Shamballa Part 1 The Other World
by Beregond5
Summary: AU. A Fullmetal Alchemist/ Lord Of The Rings Crossover divided in 4 large parts. Beregond was a soldier under Lord Faramir's command. However, a chain of events leads him down a path that he couldn't possibly imagine.
1. Chapter 1

**Instead of Prologue**

_This crossover is mostly taking place in a world where Alchemy is regarded as valid science. In that world – the country of Amestris during the year 1914, in particular – everyone can study and perform Alchemy, though each with different levels of success. One law must always be taken under consideration when performing Alchemy: the Law of Equivalent Exchange (for an alchemist to obtain, something of equal value must be lost, whether it be the raw materials to create that something or even more than that). Two laws must never be broken according to the State: it is forbidden to transmute anything into gold, and it is forbidden to perform human transmutation (attempt to bring back the dead)._

**Some Of The Main Characters **

Beregond: A Gondorian soldier from Middle-earth who, as one would say, was just unlucky to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. In a conflict that resulted in his son's death, Beregond inexplicably finds himself in the country of Amestris. Bereft of kinsmen, in a world unknown and hostile and without any knowledge of the strange tongue uttered, Beregond now has to depend on his wits if he's to survive and find a way back to his home. In this quest, he gets allies who are willing to offer a hand when need be – but also enemies who wish to see him dead.

Edward Elric: A fifteen-year-old alchemist, Ed is the youngest person who's ever managed to become an alchemist of the State and a soldier (automatically placed in the rank of major because of his knowledge in Alchemy). Considered a genius by most because of his ability to transmute without the use of an alchemic array (the standard medium an average alchemist uses to perform Alchemy), that ingenuity came with a price. After being abandoned by his father at a very tender age and losing also his mother by an unknown illness at the age of 10, Ed decides to perform human transmutation with the help of his younger brother, Alphonse. The human transmutation proves a failure and Ed loses his leg as the price of the Law of Equivalent Exchange. Seeing that his brother's whole body vanished for that same price, he gives up his right arm to place his brother's soul into a suit of armour nearby. Undeterred by the loss of his limbs thanks to automail (mechanical fake limbs with almost the same mobile ability as any flesh one), now he wants nothing more than to find a way to restore his and his brother's body back to normal. In his quest, Ed gets help by his boss, Colonel Mustang, who gives him any leads that are out there in exchange for services in the military; and his brother, Alphonse. However, he's also destined to receive help from where he least expects. His favoured weapon is a blade that he transmutes out of his automail arm, which is one of the reasons that his codename in the army is the Fullmetal Alchemist.

It should also be noted that, though Ed is in many ways an adult and a prodigy, there are times that his true age is revealed through numerous bursts of temper (especially when it comes to comments about his height – or lack, thereof) or recklessness.

Alphonse Elric: Edward Elric's younger brother by a year. He helped Ed in their attempt to bring back their mother through human transmutation, but lost his whole body in the process. Ed managed to salvage his soul and place it into a suit of armour, and he's been residing there since. Though his new body of a seven-foot suit of armour can be intimidating at first, Alphonse is, in fact, of a quieter and gentler disposition than his brother and only resolves to fighting only when he considers it absolutely necessary. His own talent in Alchemy doesn't match Ed's (he only uses transmutation circles), nevertheless he's a very bright and good alchemist himself and he shouldn't be underestimated.

Colonel Roy Mustang: Edward Elric's boss. He's one of the most renowned State Alchemists, even though he's quite young himself – he's 29. His favoured weapon, surprisingly enough, is a pair of gloves with transmutation circles on them. They are made of a material called "pyrotex" – else known as ignition cloth - that spark when he snaps his fingers. By adjusting the oxygen content in the surrounding atmosphere through alchemy, he can create flames anywhere in the surrounding area at will and manipulate them as he desires. It is because of this ability that he earned the codename of the Flame Alchemist in the military. Outwardly arrogant and playfully manipulative, Mustang is a very smart character who is always one step ahead. One can see Mustang's scheming ways at work when he devises a situation to allow Edward to take the State Alchemist examination, which would have otherwise been impossible because of Ed's very young age. While perceived as merely a glory hog who doggedly pursues promotions and praise, his true goals are nobler than that, as the fierce loyalty of his good friend Lt Col. Maes Hughes, Major Alex Louis Armstrong, and his own subordinates, among whom are 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye, 2nd Lieutenants Havoc and Breda, Sergeant Major Fuery, and Warrant Officer Falman, proves.

Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes: Colonel Mustang's best friend and a member of the Investigations Division in Central (the largest city of Amestris). He's more involved with police work than actual battles. He's quite the family man, obsessed with his daughter, Elysia, and keeps shoving pictures of her to anyone he meets. Nevertheless, Hughes has a very sharp mind, and he never misses an opportunity to help out Mustang to fulfil his goals.

2nd Lieutenant Jean Havoc: A soldier of Amestris who is instantly recognised from the cigarette hanging from the end of his mouth most of the time. A good sniper who goes by the book and a loyal man to his boss, Colonel Mustang (even though the said boss has the nasty habit of stealing his girlfriends), Havoc is the one who has the "fortune" to come across something very odd in the middle of the road on his way back home.

1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye: Mustang's second-in-command. She lives up to her name, as her aiming skills with a gun are quite unmatched.

Major Alex Louis Armstrong: He is also known by the codename the Strong Arm Alchemist, named for his skill of using arm strength in his alchemy. He was born into an elite family of alchemists and has mastered his family's techniques. Though his sheer size is intimidating, Armstrong is quite the sensitive and sentimental man.

2nd Lieutenant Heymans Breda: One of Mustang's subordinates. He likes to joke around with his colleagues.

Warrant Officer Vato Falman: Part of Mustang's group. Falman is particularly known for his precision and data.

Sergeant Major Kaine Fuery: A kind man who cares for animals and everyone else. He is also part of Roy Mustang's group and is the youngest and lowest-ranked member. He is extremely talented with radio signals.

Winry Rockbell: Ed and Alphonse's childhood friend. She's the mechanic who made Edward's automail limbs. An orphan herself, she lives with her grandmother, Pinako Rockbell, another automail engineer.

Black Hayate: A true dog of the military, Black Hayate was a little puppy that Fuery picked up on a rainy street one day out of pity. He couldn't keep the dog himself (living in a dorm that didn't allow pets), so the puppy was eventually adopted by Riza Hawkeye. But not before she freaked out the puppy (and all of Mustang's staff) by shooting an outline of bullets around it (without harming it) when it relieved itself on the office wall.

Lust: One of the bad guys. Her title is **"**Ultimate Lance**"**. Her fingernails are able to extend and turn into razor sharp blades which can seemingly pierce through anything.

Gluttony: Another bad guy. True to his name, he is always eager to eat anything, or anyone, living or dead. The muscles in his jaws are very powerful and his saliva acidic, dissolving even the toughest metals to feed his ravenous appetite. He has the mentality of a child and a very dependent nature, thus he's emotionally latched onto Lust and takes direction from her.

Envy: One of the worst bad guys. An androgynous figure with a dry wit, Envy has the ability to assume the form of any person and copy their voice. He also displays high agility, feats of superhuman strength when enraged, and the power to manipulate his body to form weapons and poisonous animals such as snakes.

_And, hopefully, this is enough for you to come by for the present. Any other information will be added in the story, which is about to unfold right now…_


	2. Exchange

Special thanks go to Junodog for beta'ing the story. Her help means a lot to me. :)

[…] Many races fell quickly and easily under the spell of the One Ring, but those enemies of Sauron who could not be immediately enslaved were resilient chiefly because they too possessed elements of alchemical power. These were the Noldor Elves, the Dwarves, and the Númenóreans.

**David Day, Tolkien's Ring. **

Faramir looked at the locked door, then at Beregond. "Are you certain this is it?"

"It has to be," Beregond answered. "It is within the halls for easy access to the library and secluded enough."

Faramir clenched his jaw in thought. "There is only one way to find out. Did you inform Éowyn were we would be?"

Beregond nodded. "She is coming with Damrod and the rest as we speak." He shifted nervously. "Faramir…"

"I know. Yet I do not wish to rush in without more people at our side."

"It is my son in there!"

"Do you think I am not aware of that?" Faramir hissed his retort.

Beregond's anguish must have been clearly visible, however, for Faramir's next words were spoken softly. "All right, but be careful. You said it yourself Dûrinas is dangerous."

"I do not have to worry, you will watch my back," said Beregond with a brief smile. Then, gathering all the strength he had, he rushed to the door and crashed it with his weight.

Faramir quickly walked in, his sword already in hand. "Dûrinas!"

No answer came. The room was empty.

Beregond rubbed his slightly throbbing shoulder, then unsheathed his sword as well and looked around too. "That makes no sense. He could not have disappeared into thin air!" he said.

"No, indeed. He must still be here," Faramir agreed. "Where though?"

Just then, Beregond caught sight of something. "Faramir, look at the floor over there."

Faramir glanced at the place the captain was now pointing, and there he saw, as clear as day, the signs of dust swept aside. He nodded a bit and helped Beregond push the wall open. A long, dark corridor was revealed, yet that wouldn't stop the Prince of Ithilien. After picking up two torches and handing one to Beregond, he started walking through it, followed closely behind by his friend.

The room in which Faramir and Beregond found themselves made them shiver for more reasons than the cold lingering in it. The walls seemed to close around them, ready to choke them, and the pale pyre that was burning on the centre of the room only made the place even more unwelcome. It wasn't that that filled both the men's heart with horror though. It was the large white circle drawn on the floor, filled with symbols that, though neither of them knew what they meant, they knew what was their purpose; for they knew of the story of those ancient times that was taught to them when they were still children.

"But Sauron caused to be built upon the hill in the midst of the city of the Númenóreans, Armenelos the Golden, a mighty temple; and it was in the form of a circle at the base, and crowned with a mighty dome," started reciting a voice, its croaking sound seeming to resonate through the very walls. Then the form of an old man stepped out of the shadows, a cloak with more symbols sewed on it covering his slumping shoulders, and his withered hand holding a boy in his early teens by the hair. "And in that temple, men made sacrifice to Melkor that he should release them from Death."

"You seem to forget that it was done with the spilling of blood and torment and wickedness!" Faramir said, tensing to see Dûrinas making his appearance. He extended his sword towards the man he had trusted as advisor ever since he settled in Emyn Arnen. "Release the boy!"

Dûrinas hissed. "Not before it serves my purpose!"

With eyes always locked on the form of Dûrinas, Beregond took a few steps aside slowly. Yet neither the corrupt advisor nor Faramir seemed to notice him at the moment.

"If you think that in this way you will defeat Death, remember the fate of those in Númenor. Death came to them sooner and in dreadful guise."

"Because none of those fools deserved such a gift! Only they of might and pride and great lineage are to be given what they ask!"

"And does the Dark Lord know of might and pride in the void where he is chained now, defeated?" asked Faramir.

"He knows of loyalty, which is more than can be said of the rest of the Valar who destroyed the bloodline of Númenor when they saw it would not be chained to their will!" His knife rested against Bergil's neck, drawing a few drops of blood. "The Dark Lord showed me the way, and now I am finally to reach to its end. A life for a life; the fairest of trades."

It was then that Beregond grabbed Dûrinas from behind, the one hand holding his own knife against Dûrinas's cheek and his other gripping the pendant the advisor was wearing, ready in this way to choke him if he resisted.

"My son's life is _not_ to be traded!" the captain said, his voice resembling a growl in his anger. "Let him go!"

"Beregond, no!"

Faramir's cry came too late. Dûrinas let out a sound that could only be described as a snarl and turned abruptly to knife the captain. Beregond parried the attack and, soon enough, both he and Dûrinas were locked in fierce combat.

"Bergil, move out of the way!" Faramir shouted, quickly drawing his bow and arrow. Yet, even though the boy complied and scrambled at a safe distance, Faramir hesitated. How could he release his arrow when there was danger of injuring Beregond? And Beregond did nothing to help him either! He kept fighting Dûrinas relentlessly, unaware of what was happening around him anymore.

Seeing no other option, Faramir took a couple of deep breaths; concentrated hard, dearly hoping his archery lessons would not fail him this time; then let the arrow go.

Dûrinas let out a bellow of pain as the arrow pierced his leg. Staggering back, he lost his footing, and the next instant he was on his knees, breathing heavily and the captain towering over him. As for Beregond, he quickly kicked Dûrinas's knife away and drew his sword to rest it against the advisor's chest.

He never saw the dart hidden in Dûrinas's palm, nor how tightly Dûrinas had grabbed it, ready to throw it at the unsuspecting captain.

Yet two people did see it. Bergil immediately placed himself in front of his father, and Faramir released another arrow, which pierced Dûrinas's neck through, thus ending his life.

It seemed that the story had ended well, yet it was not so. Before even Dûrinas's body had crashed on the ground, a scream of anguish echoed throughout the room, seeming to tear everything with the sorrow it carried.

It was Beregond, now cradling the limp form of his dead son close to him and staining himself with the boy's ever-flowing blood. Another scream flowed out of the father's lips as he looked up as though he would find reason for his agony there.

The weight of his friend's grief burdening him also, Faramir fell on his knees. And the more Beregond screamed to the Valar, begging them to have mercy on him and bring his son back, the more tears the prince felt springing up in his eyes.

The screams ceased to be replaced by heartbreaking sobs. But suddenly, to Faramir's wonder, other words echoed.

"What more do you want from me?! First my father, then her! Now you wish him, too?!"

Faramir looked up. "Beregond…"

"Take me!" was all that his friend said, his eyes always looking upwards.

"Stop it…" Faramir tried to say.

"ME FOR MY SON!"

"Beregond!"

It was in that moment that Beregond's left hand, which was clenched into a fist, seemed to emanate blinding red light that became only stronger. Soon enough, it was surrounding the captain and his son's form, and all Faramir could do was watch on, terror coursing through his veins, until he finally found again the strength of his voice.

"BEREGOND, GET OUT OF THERE!"

But Beregond never heard him, for he still shouted his offer amid his tears. Then the light spread throughout the room and Faramir had to cover his eyes before becoming blind.

_____________

Éowyn and Damrod walked into the secret room, followed by the rest of the guards, and shuddered involuntarily. They both saw Dûrinas on the ground, the arrows still embedded on his body; and they both understood that a great struggle took place within those walls. Yet everything was quiet. So quiet, in fact, that the room now resembled a tomb.

It was then that Éowyn saw it: her husband, huddled in a corner of the room, cradling a body in his arms, his eyes staring at nothing, yet reflecting horror, and spasms coursing through his body. It was a sight that frightened her.

"Faramir?"

He didn't answer. Not knowing what else to do, Éowyn caressed his face gently.

He only flinched.

"Husband?"

Only then the eyes flickered with recognition. "Éowyn?"

The fair woman bit her lower lip to hear Faramir speak so shakily. "What has happened?"

A couple of tears sprang up involuntarily in Faramir's eyes. "Beregond is gone," he breathed out.

Éowyn's heart missed a beat. She looked around and, indeed, Beregond was nowhere to be seen. "Where is he?" she asked Faramir again.

A sob escaped the prince's lips. "He offered himself..."

That was all he could say and Éowyn couldn't make him explain further, for he had bowed his head and let his tears stain Bergil's face.

Yet the boy slept on peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

_____________________

Lieutenant Havoc stifled a yawn as he took another right turn towards his way home and rubbed the back of his neck slightly. Damn work, tensing him up. He wanted nothing more now then return to his place and lie down on his couch. He preferred it if a girlfriend expected him there and offered to massage his "burdens of work" off while he lay on the couch, but, alas, it wasn't meant to be. The last one dumped him two days ago.

A sudden light up in the sky certainly surprised him. However, when he briefly looked up, he saw that there were many more lights to be seen.

_A_ _thunderstorm_, Havoc figured. After all, it had already been a cloudy day and it felt like high time it started to rain.

True enough, the first droplets of rain started falling on his windshield. Havoc was quite glad that he had decided to drive home instead of walking like he first intended. He hated getting wet. His cigarette would always be put out when he was caught in the rain.

_Speaking of which… _He grabbed a cigarette from the open pack that was on the co-driver's seat and placed it in his mouth. So there would be no girlfriend at home waiting to massage him, but Havoc could always count on nicotine to help him relax.

To his utter dismay, however, he accidentally dropped his cigarette lighter.

"Just perfect," Havoc muttered under his breath annoyed. After casting a quick glance to see where exactly the lighter had landed, he swiftly ducked to get it before _not_ looking ahead as drivers were supposed to do proved too much of a mistake.

He caught it with just one effort. Smiling in triumph, Havoc sat up once more and lit his cigarette.

It was then that he hit it.

Havoc couldn't tell what it was, it all happened too quickly. All he knew was that something big and dark was suddenly on the road and, though he put on the brakes, he couldn't stop in time. The sound of the impact was sickening, to say the least.

_What the…?_ was all Havoc could think. _Where the hell did that come from?!_

Well, wherever it came, he had to see what the hell that thing _was_ first. Pulling over, he got out and looked where the thing had landed.

His blood instantly ran cold in his veins. "Oh, no!" he exclaimed, and quickly rushed forward.

It was a man he hit.

"Sir, are you--?" Havoc started, when something shining surprised him long enough to make him stop in his tracks. He took a better look and he felt like his jaw just dropped.

The source of the shine was light being reflected on armour. Armour worn by the man.

_Did I just hit…?_

"Alphonse?" Havoc said hesitantly.

There was no response.

Havoc actually winced. _Ed is gonna kill me._ He started walking up to the armoured man again. "Alphonse?"

There was no response again, something that struck to Havoc as an oddity. Alphonse Elric was almost invulnerable, how could a car hitting him cause such damage to incapacitate him?

It was in that moment that Havoc finally noticed it.

The armoured man, though tall, wasn't tall enough to be Alphonse. Moreover, as the man moved at that moment, he let out a strangled moan of pain in a voice that certainly didn't belong to Edward Elric's little brother. And now Havoc could clearly see more of him, since there was no helmet on him. He was dark-haired, and his hair almost reached his jawline.

_Not Alphonse_, Havoc concluded, relieved. Yet the question now was: who the hell was _this_ man and why would _he_ be wearing a suit of armour, making himself look like an illustration out of a history book? And circulating in the middle of the night like that, no less?

The man got on his hands and knees, trying to stand up, and Havoc decided that the stranger was just too odd-looking for him to leave anything to chance. He quickly aimed his gun at the man.

"Sir, please stand up very slowly and show me any kind of identification."

The man turned, his expression clearly telling to Havoc that he had just realized that there was someone else near him. Yet why did it feel to the lieutenant like there was also incredulity and confusion in that man's expression?

"Sir, I'll need identification papers. Please, stand up," Havoc repeated again, hoping that he would get through to the man this time. After all, for all Havoc knew, the man could still be dizzy from the hit.

The stranger never moved. He remained staring at Havoc and the gun instead, making Havoc flare with indignation. What, was the guy stupid or something?

"Sir, I want your identification papers _now_, otherwise I could have you arrested for resisting authority!"

"Ú-chenion." (I don't understand)

Havoc gaped, dumbfounded. "Excuse me?" he faltered.

"Ú-chenion_,_" the man repeated, pointing at himself and shaking his head.

_What the heck is this gibberish?!_

"Up," commanded Havoc, motioning his gun appropriately to emphasize his words. "Now."

Finally, the armoured man seemed to understand, because he slowly arose. His eyes were no longer on Havoc though. He turned his gaze to every direction, not minding the rain that was falling on his face.

Was it just Havoc's idea, or was there indeed an expression of terror forming on the man's face? And now the man's breathing was coming out in gasps.

"Sen um ôl, egor hin nín 'weriathar aen" (This is a nightmare, or my eyes are deceiving me). He looked again at Havoc and hesitantly extended a hand toward him.

Havoc never gave him the chance to touch him. "Stay where you are!" He took two steps back and put both hands on the gun. It was official; he was dealing with a madman. But from which mental facility did he escape and, more importantly, what was _he_, a lieutenant, supposed to do with him?

The man stopped, looking even more frightened and confused if that were possible, and Havoc realised that the stranger was now getting close to panicking. Though not a doctor, Havoc knew that making a crazy armoured guy lose it was definitely not good!

"All right, easy now," he said, trying to keep his voice even and calm. He extended one hand in a peaceful gesture. "Nobody needs to get hurt." _Especially I, _he added in his mind. His eyes never left the man now, who was also watching him intently. "We'll just go back to the base and see whether you've been reported missing." _Although I think the headquarters would have _buzzed _about it, if that were the case_.

The man didn't move. That made Havoc huff angrily.

"Come on, you crazy bastard, I'm already wet to the bone and I want to change to some dry clothes as soon as possible," he muttered, and used his gun to beckon the man.

The man only took one step _back_.

_Damn it!_

"Don't do it," Havoc warned, both his hands once again on the gun.

Another step back was the only answer he received.

"Don't do it!" Havoc repeated. _Damn it, I don't want to shoot you! _Crazy or not, the stranger was still a person. A person that now seemed utterly confused and lost.

A person that was now about to sprint away!

Before thinking, Havoc pulled the trigger, and the man instantly howled in pain and crashed to the ground, holding his left shoulder. The lieutenant had got his target.

Havoc remained frozen for many long moments; then finally reacted.

"You idiot!" he cried exasperatingly at the armoured form. "I told you not to do it!" He grabbed his face with his hands momentarily as though ready to shred it and let out a loud groan. "I mean, for crying out loud, which part of 'come with me and no one's gonna get hurt' didn't you get? Damn it!"

Yet it was useless. The man's eyes were closed and he didn't seem to be responding.

Finally giving up, Havoc heaved a sigh. There was nothing for it. All he could do was check the man was okay and that the bullet wound didn't do too much damage. And that was the easy part. The difficult part would be explaining things to Mustang when he returned to headquarters with that odd cargo in his car.

And somehow Havoc knew that he had only witnessed the tip of the iceberg.


	3. A New Assignment

"Brother, wake up! You have to go to work!"

Edward Elric merely let out a small groan and turned to his side. "Go away, Al. It's the only day off I've got before we see Dr. Marcoh," he mumbled, and he was soon snoring again.

"But, Brother, Lieutenant Hawkeye is at the door waiting for you!" Al insisted.

That certainly woke up Ed. He instantly sat up, surprised. "What?!" He jumped out of bed and looked through the crack of the open door. Lieutenant Hawkeye was really there, standing in the centre of the living room and checking her watch impatiently.

"Damn it!" Ed exclaimed in a hiss, and quickly started donning his shirt and trousers. "I could've sworn it was my day off! Mustang won't give me a moment's peace after this, and he'll have every right for a change!" He caught his hair with the intention of tying it into a braid to find out he was too nervous for such a task. He groaned irritably.

"Brother, let me help…" Al offered.

"No! Screw it; I'll tie it in the car!" Ed declared, and rushed outside to meet Hawkeye. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, I'm sorry, but I thought it was my day off! Is the Colonel too upset?" he said in one breath.

Hawkeye just raised her eyebrow in curiosity at the sight of the dishevelled-haired, slightly panting alchemist.

"I was actually just about to apologise myself for coming to tell you that your day off's been revoked by the Colonel," she said in all seriousness. "He's expecting you at Headquarters."

The nervousness Ed had felt up to that moment was instantly replaced with annoyance.

"What happened? Did he miss my company?" he asked sarcastically, taking out his indignation on his hair as he started tying it into a braid once again.

"I'm afraid it's not my place to say, Edward," answered Hawkeye, as always not sharing the humour. "All I can tell you is that you and your brother are expected at Headquarters where you will be debriefed. And, before you decide to take your time," she added, "I feel I should tell you that the matter _is_ important."

Ed sobered at once. He exchanged a glance with Al, who was standing right behind him; then nodded.

"All right. We're ready to go."

______________

A quarter of an hour later, Ed was knocking at the door of Roy's office. As soon as he heard the colonel's familiar and commanding "Enter!", he walked in, followed by an apprehensive Alphonse.

Colonel Roy Mustang was standing by the window behind his desk, looking outside as though lost in thought, and he wasn't alone. Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes was also in the room, sitting on the couch, his gaze sharp as always even behind the glasses he wore.

Though Maes welcomed the Elric brothers with a small smile and a nod, Roy wasn't as cordial.

"It was high time you arrived, Fullmetal," he said, turning to face the newcomers. "The world doesn't stop moving to wait for you, you know."

"Nice to see you too, Colonel," said Ed with a grim smirk and sat on the couch, next to Al. "Lieutenant Hawkeye said you wanted to see me."

"I did." Roy sat behind his desk, his hands tracing the file that rested on it. "But I think I'll let Hughes start with the talking before saying anything myself." And with no other word, he nodded at Maes.

Understanding that that was his cue to proceed, Maes stood up and took the file from Roy's hand; then turned to the brothers.

"In these last couple of months there have been a series of murders which have been puzzling the military." He showed Ed and Alphonse five pictures of women. "Two of them were soldiers, and all five of them were stabbed to death. Witnesses say that lately they've been seeing an armoured man circulating in the area. Does the description sound familiar?"

Ed didn't answer, but it was clear it did.

"The only armoured person is me," Al said, his fingers twitching nervously.

"Al, don't even think about it!" Ed chided his brother at once. "You were with me at all hours! There's nothing against you!"

Roy shook his head. "Alphonse has every reason to be afraid, Fullmetal. When the public wishes for answers, the military is forced to come up with some – at _all_ costs."  
Ed immediately jumped out of his seat and banged his fists on Roy's desk.

"Well, the military should move its ass and _find_ answers instead of making them up! Al is innocent!"

"Sit down, Fullmetal!" Roy shouted in wrath, also standing up. Their angry faces were so close now that their noses almost touched.

"Brother…" Al started lamely.

"Ed, you didn't hear the whole story," Maes said calmly. He then turned to Colonel Mustang, clasping his best friend's shoulder. "You know you haven't said everything yet, Roy. Don't you think you should?"

Neither Ed nor Roy seemed ready to give in for many moments, yet they finally relented. They both sat down grudgingly.

"Like I said," Roy continued, trying to rid himself of the last traces of anger, "when the military is forced to give answers, the military has to find them wherever it can. If it served its purposes, it _would_ lay charges against Al." He sighed, yet there was a tone of relief in his next words. "But your brother was lucky this time. Brigadier General Connors graced us with the honour of arresting another suspect." He grabbed a photograph from his desk and threw it at Ed's direction.

Ed caught the photograph in mid-air, his automail proving precise in its movement. He looked at the photograph and he wondered to see that it was a man, possibly in his early thirties, his dark hair reaching his jawline, and his green-hazel eyes seeming as though dead as they stared at nothing. Moreover, it was a soldier's hand that had forced the man to face at the camera for the picture to be taken; Ed could see the fingers clearly. That struck to the young alchemist as odd.

"When that person was found, he also was wearing armour and he was covered in blood. What's more, another woman was found dead this morning – stabbed."

"Seems to me like Brigadier General Connors found the man," Ed noted coolly.

Roy smirked. "And I'd agree with you for once, Fullmetal, but Hughes and Havoc have convinced me otherwise."

"How?" asked Ed, surprised. He looked at Maes.

"It was Havoc who found him," Maes said, answering the young alchemist's look. "He hit him with his car while driving back to his home and brought him here after he was forced to shoot him. And instead of getting treatment as Havoc had intended, the man was arrested by Connors and charged with murder."

"That's what we're supposed to do, isn't it?" asked Ed. "Find the guilty ones of crime and arrest them?"

"Perhaps, but Havoc feels pretty bad for dragging the man in this situation. You see, he's certain that the guy is innocent. And I believe him. After all, don't forget that Havoc shot him and the blood could as well be his. There's something else too."

"What?"

"The profile that we've come up with on the murderer presented someone overconfident, disrespectful of authority, without any sense of distinction between good and evil; a person who, no matter what, just tries to amuse himself in any way possible."

Maes picked up the picture and looked at it, thoughtfully; then gave it back to Ed.

"Now _this _one is anything _but_ all that. He's afraid to so much as move; he looks confused and frightened at every man and everything that seems to be close to him, cowering like a dog that's afraid its master is going to hurt him; he jumps at every loud sound…"

"In other words, Fullmetal, this guy is scared to death even to see his own shadow," intervened Roy.

Maes nodded. He motioned his head at the photograph. "The moment that this picture was taken, he collapsed on the ground, trembling and covering his eyes."

Ed raised an eyebrow of curiosity. "But still, didn't anyone try to talk to him, to get his side of the story?"

"I did. Personally," Maes said. "He's not talking. Not that it would make too much of a difference anyway."

"Why?"

Roy smiled grimly. "Because, according to Havoc, who _has _heard him talking, the sounds he lets out can be described as anything but comprehensive speech."

Maes sighed. "I'm sure that's what is going on in that guy's mind as well. That's why he didn't stop when Havoc told him not to run off." He turned again to Ed. "To that guy's mind, what he says _is_ speech. It's _us_ who can't understand what he's saying," he said solemnly. "At least, that's what the doctor said."

"So what you're both saying is that the military is ready to put in jail someone who doesn't have the mentality to defend himself, just to appease public opinion?" asked Ed, looking hard at Maes and Roy.

"If the real murderer isn't found soon… yes," said Maes.

"But that's unfair!" exclaimed Al, horrified.

"You can't do that!" seconded Ed, springing up and facing Roy furiously again.

"I don't intend to, Fullmetal. That's why I asked you to come here," said Roy calmly.

Ed blinked, not really understanding.

"If we're to find the real murderer, every man available in the team will have to get out onto the streets and start investigating. And that includes you," explained Roy.

"Oh… All right. Then tell us where we're to go," said Ed.

"'We'?" echoed Roy, raising an eyebrow.

"Alphonse and I, of course."

Surprisingly enough, Roy shook his head. "Your brother can't be with you on this."

"What?!" exclaimed both brothers at once. "Why not?!"

"Because, Al, you'll be with me and Havoc if you'll have it," answered Maes for Roy.

Al tensed up, his curiosity piqued. "What am I to do?"

Hughes only smiled. "Before telling you anything more, I think we should all go to the hospital first."

"To the hospital?" asked Ed. "What for?"

"That's where our 'friend' is until his wounds are taken care of," said Roy.

_________________

The guard by the door of the hospital room instantly straightened his glasses and pulled his shoulders back upon seeing Colonel Mustang, accompanied by Maes Hughes, the Elric brothers and Riza Hawkeye. "Sir!"

"At ease, Fuery," said Roy with a small wave of his hand. "Anything new to report?"

"The doctor came in to examine the suspect an hour ago. Havoc will be able to tell you of his conclusions though; it was he who talked to him."

"Very well," Roy said; then, smiling a bit, patted Fuery's shoulder. "Go get yourself something from the canteen. Lieutenant Hawkeye can relieve you while we're here."

"Thank you, sir," said Fuery and, with a brief salute, he left, leaving Riza to take his place. As soon as she took position by the door, her hand resting on her gun, the rest went inside.

Havoc was sitting on a chair, a cup of tea in his hand and a newspaper in his other. Even though he was tired, it was clear that he was glad to see familiar faces walking through the door, because he smiled when he saluted.

However, there was no reaction from the other occupant of the room, who kept staring in the void, his hands resting loosely on his lap.

Maes looked at the man, his eyes widening in surprise. "Lieutenant Havoc… that's how I left him more than three hours ago!"

Havoc nodded, sighing. "And he hasn't moved an inch since. I had to hold him upright while the doctor examined him."

"So it's safe to assume that he hasn't talked either?" asked Roy.

Another nod. "The doctor said that there's nothing physically wrong with him. In fact, with the exception of several nasty bruises on his torso and the bullet wound on his shoulder, he's one of the healthiest people he's ever examined. But it seems like he's… well, shut himself down seems the best way to describe it."

"A mental breakdown then?" asked Ed. Before he could help himself, he poked at the man curiously with his flesh hand, watching closely for any kind of reaction.

There was none.

"I suppose one could consider it a mercy," noted Roy thoughtfully. "He's not aware in what kind of trouble he is."

"But it'll make things more difficult for us," said Maes with a sigh.

"In what way?" asked Ed again.

"Even if he's proven innocent of those women's murders, he still has plenty of explaining to do. For example, who he is, or why he was circulating in the dead of night in armour."

"I think the answer is obvious to that last one," said Havoc. "He's rather… eccentric, to put it mildly."

Maes shook his head. "Maybe, maybe not. To know for sure, we've got to find a way to get through to him somehow." Maes turned to Al. "And now we've come to what I've been meaning to ask you, Alphonse."

Al's eyes flashed brilliantly. "Yes, sir?"

"Lieutenant Havoc and I have decided to take turns in staying with him, in the hopes that he'll learn to trust and perhaps open up to us. That will also serve one more purpose. Should another woman be murdered in the meantime, this one has an alibi and gets acquitted.

"Yet, we also don't want to take any chances of _you_ being accused either. So we believe it'll be in your best interest if you also helped us in that task. The catch is that you'll have to stay here at _all_ times, where Havoc and I can keep an eye on you, and also the nurses and the doctors can see you," Maes explained. "_That_ gives you an alibi, too."

Al didn't speak for several moments. He simply turned towards his brother. "Ed…"

"It's completely up to you, Al," Ed said at once. "You're a civilian, so no one can force you to do anything. I can only tell you that Hughes' reasoning holds water, and I want you to be safe."

"But… I don't know what I can do here," said Al, shaking his head.

Ed smiled broadly. "Don't worry about it. I will come whenever my own duties finish and stay with you for several hours to help out. How does that sound?"

Al bowed his head, clearly thinking; then looked at the man, who kept staring at empty space.

"I guess it could be me in his position. And I'd certainly want someone to be with me if that happened," he said in the end. "I'll do it."

That was certainly received gladly by the others. "You've made the right decision, Alphonse," Roy said with a small encouraging smile. And with that, they all started making arrangements. Havoc would come by in the mornings, whereas Hughes would visit in the afternoons; as for Ed, he would come over in the evenings, and they all would report on Roy, who would in the meantime supervise the investigation of the women's murders.

None of them noticed that, while they were deep in conversation, the man was staring at them continuously, studying them. And they never saw him looking straight ahead again when Ed cast a brief glance at him, just before walking out with Mustang and Hughes.


	4. Awareness

_When a seaman finds himself caught in a storm and the waves are ready to crash him, he never fights them. He lets the waves take him where they will, and thus he always remains on the surface of the water with no danger of drowning._

_But you never kept under consideration _that_ kind of storm when you gave me that advice, did you, Maldir, my good mentor? And I still feel like I am drowning even while I am sitting on this bed, doing nothing else but watch and wait. Wait in the hopes that I will wake up at any moment and I will find myself in _my_ room, in _my_ bed, and I will never have to think twice about… these tricks of the mind that are unveiled before me. That when I speak of them to Faramir, he will merely consider them a jest and reassure me with his kind words and smile that I should, too._

_That I will see Bergil alive and breathing._

_Bergil…_

_Son… _

_No, hold still, sorrowful heart. There will be a time and a place to mourn, and that is not it, no matter how much it aches and shatters you._

_Now I have to apply reason to _this_; comprehend everything before me._

_Yet from where to begin? _

_From the beginning, comes the logical answer. _

_That I do, though it frightens me. My fingers fidget slightly; my ears pick up any sound; I look through the corner of my eye at the group of men just a little away from me, somehow aware that they are talking about me. _

_Everything seems and feels real, and that brings me but to two options: I have either gone utterly mad or – Valar, I do not wish to admit it! – it _is_ real_.

_Neither of the options is promising, yet I fear I know which one stands as true._

_It is real. If it were not, there would be no lingering pain on my shoulder, nor would my eyes still hurt after seeing before me that blinding light from the box one of the men was holding._

_If it is real, however, how was I brought here?_

_The answer is, once again, fairly obvious._

_The Valar._

_I remember my very core straying out of thought and time; then a glimpse of great gates – the Gates of Mandos; and here I am, taken to a place where no one, not even the Elves, know of. Just like it is the fate of every Man's soul, by Eru's bidding. _

_But, were that to be true, I should be dead. I still draw breath instead._

_Was this how it was meant to be?_

_If not, then the Valar were not granting me any favours at all. It is my punishment for defying their will._

_There they are, casting glances at me again. I do not hold it against them; they must consider me as strange as I consider them. And I realise that they wish to know about me as much as _I_ wish to know about _them_._

_That, however, I cannot allow. Not before _I _learn about them first. I need to know to whom I can trust, since my strengths alone cannot help me this time, it is obvious. And the only option I have for gaining the information I need is by observing them without them realising it._

_The three almost identically dressed men are the easiest to study. Their movements are abrupt and powerful, yet precise and full of purpose; their posture is proud; their look is sharp; and they always stare in the eye the one they address. I know that behaviour only too well. I have been seeing it all my life._

_They are soldiers. And one of them, the dark-haired, young-looking one is superior to the other two. He has the confidence of a leader of men, just like Boromir had._

_But the other two…_

_The fair-haired one is like a child, which is odd. For what business would a child have with soldiers, conversing with them in what appears to be an equal manner?_

_Perhaps he is no child? That was the mistake I did when I first met Pippin._

_No, this is not the case. Though he acts in many ways like an adult, his eagerness and curiosity could easily match Bergil's. The way he looked at me and touched me proves that._

_As for the other one… _He_ is the strangest of all. At first I thought that he was a warrior, just like me, but now that I heard that child's voice coming out of him, I do not know what to make of it._

"I'll do it."

"You've made the right decision, Alphonse."

_It seems that I will have some time to observe him better. It looks as if he will stay here with the fair-haired soldier who has been guarding me._

_That is what happens indeed. I do not know how much time passes as I still feel their eyes locked on me, yet I do not feel threatened. The fair-haired soldier is kind, that much I know so far. He treated me like a human being, unlike those others that grabbed me and dragged me hither and thither, yelling at me as though I was some animal. It is true that it is because of him that my shoulder hurts as though someone pushed a hot iron bar on it, but I can see it in his eyes that he feels sorry about it. _

_I can understand him. As I recall the moment of our meeting, chaotic though it was, I understand more and more the steps he took when he faced me. It was like observing myself when facing someone I am not certain he is a friend or a foe. He did his duty, and commendably at that. I cannot hold him responsible for my being here, though it is clear he believes that I do._

_Though I understand him better because of our common profession, he still manages to catch me off guard. He goes by the door and speaks to someone outside. At the next moment, he holds a tray and places it on my lap._

_Though everything is different from the world I knew, food is still the same – sweet-smelling and mouth-watering. Yet I cannot afford to move. They must believe that I am incapable of comprehension, or they will become cautious._

_He is sighing. He is clearly disappointed._

"I thought it would help." _He stands up and I listen, though I am not familiar with the Tongue he is speaking._ "Talk about a mental breakdown or what? And it's all Connors' men's fault! They scared the hell out of him with their shouting and bullying! Bastards."

_The armoured one doesn't answer, though his body posture tells me that he is contemplating something. I almost betray myself when I watch him in surprise sitting by my side and picking a bowl of soup and a spoon._

"Open wide."

_I do not move, for I do not know_ _what he is saying. He brings the soup-filled spoon up to the crack that is his mouth and makes sounds as though he is tasting it; then brings it close to my mouth again._

"It's delicious! Come on, open wide."

_I finally understand, for now the tone is truly unmistakable. __**I**__ sounded that way whenever I was feeding Bergil on his toddler days. It takes all my will power to suppress the smile that is forcing itself to be formed on my lips._

"Don't be shy. I know you want it."

_I try to fight it but I cannot. The voice is soothing as it reminds me of my boy. I open my mouth and eat._

"What do you know!" _I hear the fair-haired soldier say, a small chuckle escaping his lips_. "You're a natural at this, Alphonse!"

_Something tells me that the armoured person feels like blushing._

"Well, uh… It's just that… Ed can be so focused on work sometimes that he often skips a meal or two. I have to remind him that he needs to eat from time to time."

_The soldier nods. _"I understand." _He looks at me again._ "I suppose that's what the guy needs, isn't it? To be treated like a kid until he snaps out of it."

"Yeah, I suppose so," _the armour says._

_I could swear that that last phrase was spoken with hesitation and discomfort._

_An uncomfortable silence follows and all I can do is open my mouth mechanically as the soup is offered. _

"Do you think they'll find the real murderer, Lieutenant Havoc?"

_The soldier sighs. Whatever it was the armour asked him, it has made him thoughtful._

"They'll have to. No one wants an innocent man to be put in prison. Besides," _suddenly a small smirk is tugging his lips,_ "The Colonel really wants to make Connors look like the idiot that he is." _Another pause._ "Don't worry. Edward's gonna be fine."

"I hope so." _The armour places the now empty bowl down and, after ridding the tray off my lap, he gently prods me to lie down, as though I was a child. I want to object, but I have to admit that my body demands a rest. I close my eyes and let him cover me with the blanket. I never realise when sleep claims me. _

____________________

_When I wake up, the Armour is still in the room, but not the fair-haired soldier. There is another one in his place, the same one that came back in the morning with his superior; the same one that tried to speak to me. He is holding something in his hands and he is showing it to the Armour._

_It seems like a book, yet it is large and with very few pages._

"Do you think it will work, sir?"

"That's what I've been reading to Elysia and she's catching everything in it." _He is grinning, though I do not understand why._ "Besides, he has to start understanding our language from somewhere."

"Well," _the Armour seems thoughtful for some reason. _"All right."

_The soldier approaches me and, seeing that I am awake, helps me sit up. He sits by my side, but I ignore him, staring at nothing. He gently prods me to face him._

"Hello,"_ he says, opening his mouth in an exaggerating manner._

_I try not to laugh. It is true he wants to help me understand him, but I cannot help feeling I am in a rather ridiculous position._

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Hughes," _the soldier carries on, oblivious to my thoughts. He points at himself._ "Hughes."

_All feelings of mirth die out, as I realise what he is doing._

_He is teaching me._

_My heart almost misses a beat, and I prick my ears to listen to him again as he repeats the word._

"Hughes."

_Hughes. It's a simple word, pronounceable. Yet I cannot help but wonder whether it stands for 'man' or 'soldier'. Or is it perhaps his name?_

_He takes my hand and rests it against his chest. He repeats the word, and though I am tempted to speak it, I only say it within my mind. I wish to understand more first. _

"Alphonse, please come here. I want you to see what I'm doing, so you'll be able to do this on your own."

_The Armour approaches hesitantly; then the soldier points at him._

"He's Alphonse," _he says, and repeats the last word several times, taking my other hand placing it on the Armour's chest._

_This word is a bit more challenging, but I memorise it. Nevertheless, I find it flustering not to be certain what it means precisely. I must learn more, so I let my hand slip by 'accident' on the book he is holding._

_I am not certain if he sees through me or not, but the soldier is smiling. He picks up the book and prods me to look at it._

"Book." _Again he performs the same ritual, saying the word and letting me feel the hard cover of the book. And I, once again, repeat the word in my mind, gladdened to know exactly what it means this time._

_The soldier seems pleased, though I do not believe I give him the impression that I understand. He quickly opens the book and shows me a picture with scribbles underneath it._

"A," _he says and points at the scribble, and I memorise it; then the soldier points at the picture._

"Ape."

_I look at the illustration of a… Yes, I know this animal. I saw it when I escorted Faramir to the southern lands for peace negotiations. 'Ape' I silently repeat. And as the soldier keeps showing me the other pages, I cannot help thinking that I should have had that book when I was teaching Bergil how to read._

________________

_I hardly understand how quickly time passes. My head feels as though about to burst by all the words it is filled with, but I would not have it otherwise. Now all I want is to keep repeating them, lest I forget them._

_The two are talking again. I prick my ears in the hopes of hearing a familiar word, but I am not that fortunate; they speak too quickly for my inexperienced mind. Yet their voices have another kind of effect on me. Lulled by the sounds their lips let out, I drift to the land of dreams before I can help it._

____________________

_The next time I wake up, I see the room is lit as though it is day, yet I know it is night. There are no soldiers guarding me. It is only the Armour - should I use the word Alphonse? I am not certain – and a small bundle of clothes by the chair._

_But, as I take a better look, I notice that, underneath those clothes, there is a small boy, sound asleep. It is the same one that was here this morning, yet it is not that that fills me with wonder. It is the manner in which the Armour places the child's characteristic red overcoat over him. It almost resembles love and care._

_My heart starts aching again as this scene makes me recall memories I do not want to at this time. I hug myself as I feel my face contorting in anguish; I dig my nails on my sides in an attempt to stop that bleeding feeling within that wants to flow out; my head starts feeling hot as I prevent myself from letting go, for I know that if I start I will never stop._

_It is to no avail. The only thing I can do now is turn to my side, bury myself on the soft pillow and allow the tears to flow, no sound escaping my lips._

_It hurts too much, but only _I_ need to know._


	5. Enemies

"Weird," said Havoc, checking the face of the man that was in deep sleep. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he'd been crying."

"That's what Brother said before leaving too," said Alphonse, standing close by. "He also said that it must be part of his mental breakdown. Start crying at any time with no reason whatsoever."

"Seems like it." The lieutenant's hand reached for a cigarette, but he reconsidered at once. After all, this was a hospital and he didn't want to be caught by any nurses. He huffed a bit and settled down on the chair nearby. "So Hughes said he's trying to teach him to speak?"

Al nodded. "I'm not sure how much he seems to understand though. His face was blank the whole time we've been talking to him."

"Remember, Al, this guy's like a baby. Babies don't learn to talk in one day."

"I know that. But still…" Al sighed. "I don't like seeing him like this. It's so sad."

"I understand," Havoc said. He looked at the sleeping man. "It's a shame, really. But for that deficiency in his mind, he seems like a perfectly normal person."

It was then that there was a gentle knock on the door and a red-haired nurse came in, carrying a tray of food for the patient. She smiled at Havoc and Alphonse and then lightly prodded the man to wake up to examine him.

Though the man opened his eyes, he didn't stir when she told him to sit up. His stare was empty.

"Poor dear," she said with a small sigh; then turned to Havoc. "Could you please help me with him, sir?" she asked in the sweetest of voices, her eyelids fluttering as she looked at him through brilliant blue eyes.

Havoc didn't need to be told twice, of course. Grinning silly, he pulled the patient upright and watched the nurse place a thermometer on the man's mouth; listen to his breathing; feel his forehead and cheeks for any unusual heat (though, as Alphonse noticed, the nurse should have checked _Havoc's_ forehead and cheeks for that kind of thing, because his face had oddly turned crimson); his pulse; and, finally, she took out the thermometer and had a look at it.

"Well, everything seems to be normal," she concluded, smiling. She placed the thermometer back in the pocket of her gown and opened the door. "Should he need anything, just press the button and I'll be right with you."

"Wait, what if _we_ need…?" started Havoc, but the door had already closed. "Never mind," he said with a sigh, kicking an invisible stone.

He never noticed Alphonse looking strangely at the man, for Al could have sworn that the man seemed like he was watching the scene with interest. Neither did Al say anything about it, because he felt that the soldier wouldn't believe him anyway – before Al was sure of what he had seen, the man's glance was empty once again.

"Now I _know_ the guy is suffering from a mental breakdown," commented Havoc, waving a hand in front of the man's eyes. "A sweet little thing parading in front of him like that and he didn't so much as blink!"

Al preferred not to comment on that, since it seemed too embarrassing for him. "We should feed him," was the only thing he said.

Havoc nodded. "Will you do that?" he asked Al. "He seems to prefer it when you're feeding him."

"Yeah."

Al had barely started feeding the man, however, when a sudden commotion was heard outside the room.

"Sir, you can't go in there without direct permission from…!"

"Out of my way, soldier!"

Havoc frowned and quickly stood up. "I'll take care of this," he said, his fingers on his gun and ready to grab it at the first sign of danger.

The door flung open, and a gruff-looking man walked in, looking first incredulously at Havoc, then at the armoured person who was by the patient's side.

"Well, well, what have we here? Pampering a suspect of murder, are we?" he asked, curling his lip in distaste.

Havoc clenched his jaw as he saluted more out of courtesy than anything else. "Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette."

Fawcette snorted. "Spare me the typicalities, Lieutenant Havoc, and you better start explaining to me why the suspect is here." He cast a glance full of contempt at Al. "And he even has a friend. I see the suspect won't be alone during court."

Al's hands curled into fists at the scorn he got.

"Alphonse Elric is here at the direct orders of Colonel Mustang," said Havoc. "Now, with all due respect, unless _you_ have different orders from _your_ superior, Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette, your presence isn't required here."

"Don't try being cheeky with me, Lieutenant Havoc, or I could have you court-martialled," said Fawcette. "Brigadier General Connors is getting impatient with all this nonsense about keeping the suspect here when there's no need. He seems pretty much cured from his wounds."

"He's suffering from a mental breakdown, Sir," Havoc said.

"I'm sure the Brigadier General will be understanding," Fawcette said mockingly. "He'll appoint an attorney to speak for him." He approached the bed. "Please, step away, Mr. Elric. The suspect is coming with me."

Al didn't move; he merely looked at Havoc, clearly at a loss. Havoc wanted to do something, anything; but he was aware he was outranked.

"Mr. Elric…" Fawcette started again, his tone about to become threatening.

"Alphonse, stay where you are."

Everyone, except for the patient, turned to the sound of the commanding voice.

It was Colonel Mustang, and he was now entering the room.

"Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette, may I ask the reasons for your presence in a hospital room?" he asked coldly.

If Fawcette felt daunted by Roy's presence, he certainly didn't show it.

"Colonel Mustang, I have orders from Brigadier General Connors to remove the suspect and place him under custody till the day of his trial."

"In the hopes of _beating_ a confession out of him, no doubt," retorted Roy. "It seems such an easy thing, isn't it? The mystery of the murders can be considered solved; Connors gets the promotion he's been after for so long; and you can still be his right-hand man as Colonel, without a care in the world. Just like the good old times." Roy's words dripped with contempt. "Not this time."

Fawcette looked at Roy incredulously. "Excuse me?"

Roy's gaze hardened. "I thought I was quite clear. You can't have him."

"Colonel, you have no right to disregard…"

"On the contrary, Fawcette, it seems to me that it's the Brigadier General who has disregard of the procedures," Roy said quickly. "He disregarded the fact that it was one of _my_ men who found this person before he sent you along with charges against said person and arresting him as suspect. He overrode jurisdiction – _my_ jurisdiction. I'm sure the superiors would like to hear that."

Fawcette glared at Roy. "I should remind you, Colonel, that Lieutenant Havoc wasn't anywhere near this man when the arrest was made. He was at the registration desk, signing admission papers for a mere car-accident victim."

Havoc bowed his head regretfully, because he knew that what Fawcette said was true. As for Al, he was holding tightly the man's hand as he was looking first at Fawcette, then at Roy, watching apprehensively at this verbal clash.

Roy barked his laughter, not in the least fazed. "Then perhaps I should remind _you_, Fawcette, that it was _Havoc's_ bullet in the man's shoulder. That makes it _his _catch – which also means _mine_. So, if Connors wants this man under his jurisdiction, he first has to apply an appeal to the Führer; await his approval; then send to my office a notice, in triplicate, in which it's clearly stated that it's his wish to interrogate him - along with the Führer's _written_ approval, signed by King Bradley himself." He leant dangerously close to Fawcette. "Until that time, you and your men are to keep your distance from this room. Is that understood?"

Fawcette's eyes narrowed. "You're aware, of course, that the Führer is currently busy with other matters."

"You'll just have to wait till he's at the Brigadier General's disposal then," said Roy with a smirk. "That's quite the inconvenience for you, I'm sure."

Fawcette stiffened, but he didn't argue any further. He looked at everyone, his hatred clearly visible.

"And all this for a stinking ape," he finally growled, scowling at the patient. And he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

"Mean," Al said indignantly, looking at the direction Fawcette had taken.

"Bastard," seconded Havoc.

"Pompous ass," added Roy.

_Orc._

No one heard that fourth comment, for the patient merely thought of it. Yet he was currently doing his best not to lunge after the arrogant fool and show him what _this_ ape was able to do.

He never realised that he had squeezed the armour's hand, earning a curious look from Al.


	6. A Better Understanding

When Ed arrived at the hospital in the evening, he was surprised to see that Al wasn't alone with the patient. Havoc and Hughes were also there.

"What happened here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Did a bomb go off or something?"

"You could say that," answered Maes grimly. "Havoc and Alphonse were just telling me all about it."

"Yeah?"

"Sit down and we'll tell you too, Chief," was all that Havoc said, and as soon as Ed pulled up a chair, he and Alphonse carried on with their story.

"It was a lucky thing that the Colonel came when he did," Al concluded once they recounted the morning's incident. "They were ready to take him away!"

"Was it really luck, I wonder?" said Ed thoughtfully.

"It wasn't," answered Maes. "Roy had expected Connors would have Fawcette pull a stunt like that. But I bet he didn't expect it so soon."

"Still, I'm glad the Colonel managed to gain us some more time," said Havoc. "Did you have any luck in catching the real culprit, Edward?"

"No," answered Ed, shaking his head. "All clues we've found so far have led us into a dead end."

"But I don't understand," said then Al. "If the real murderer has found out that somebody else is accused of the murders he has committed, wouldn't he have become more daring?"

"Not really," said Maes. "It's a more logical course of action to wait till the innocent one is convicted, so when he strikes again, it will be more difficult to make the connection between the previous murders and the next ones."

Havoc's hands played with his pack of cigarettes in his frustration. "Damn it. I really wanted to see the look on Fawcette's face when we came up with the real murderer. That would have been an unpleasant surprise for him."

"We can't give up now!" exclaimed Al. "There must be something more we can do."

"Not for the present," said Maes. "But Roy won't let any opportunity go to waste, count on it."

"Yeah, that's easy to notice," noted Ed. He turned to Hughes and Havoc. "How come Mustang is so interested in solving this case? I've rarely seen him so energetic before."

Havoc smirked. "He's always energetic. It's just that not all that many people happen to witness it."

"And he has some other reasons as well," said Maes. "He doesn't want history to repeat itself."

That certainly caught Ed and Al's attention.

"Repeat itself how?" asked Ed.

Havoc grabbed a cigarette and lit it, apparently deciding that nicotine was necessary and the nurses would have to put up with it. "Should I tell them or you, Sir?"

Maes pondered on it a bit. "I will. Just make sure nobody overhears through that door."

"Right." And with that, Havoc stood by the door.

"Well," started Maes, "everyone knows that Roy and Connors don't care for each other that much. What not all that many people know is that their enmity goes back to the Ishbal Massacre. When Roy was still major and Connors was colonel.

"They didn't exactly hit it off when they were placed in the same division, yet at least they respected each other. After all, they were young and eager, neither of them had seen war before; they had more things to share than to be separated from. That is, until it circulated among the soldiers that there was a group of Ishbalans, called the Defiance, who took down military men one by one, using the dead of night as their camouflage. It's said that they were so silent, that you could be talking to your comrade and, at the next moment you looked at him, the said comrade could have vanished into thin air.

"That, of course, was something that the military couldn't allow. They gave strict orders to the soldiers to always stay in large groups whenever patrolling and, should they see anyone suspicious, apprehend him and ask questions.

"One night, and while Roy and Connors' group were patrolling, Roy noticed something in the shadows. He quickly lunged forward, believing it was one of the wanted Ishbalans, only to discover that it was just a boy, not more than ten years old. He was a carrier, taking ammunition to Ishbalans that had hidden nearby.

"Since the ammunition was confiscated and the boy kept under custody, Roy believed that he had done his duty well. But then he heard news that Connors claimed the boy was part of the Defiance group, and had even managed to get a confession out of him after some hours of interrogation. Roy went to the cell the boy was being held, and he was horrified to see that the boy had been beaten and both his arms were broken – as part of the 'interrogation'."

"They _forced_ the boy to make a confession that wasn't true?!" asked Ed, shocked.

Maes nodded. "That's what Roy said when he made an appeal for the case to be examined further. A court-martial was held soon enough, and both Connors' and Roy gave their testimonies. Unfortunately the boy himself was so frightened that no one could make any sense out of his crying and screaming."

"But the boy was found innocent, right?" Al asked then hopefully.

Maes shook his head. "Just when it seemed that the court-martial would acquit the boy because of doubt, someone testified that the suspect did indeed confess, and that his wounds were self-inflicted in his attempt to escape."

Ed bit his lower lip, while Alphonse let out a slight gasp.

"Who would _lie_ like this?" asked Ed, his voice low and angry.

Maes shrugged. "Anyone ambitious enough for a promotion; someone who would then have the honour to take up the position of lieutenant colonel instead of Roy, becoming in this way Connors' right-hand man."

"Fawcette," Al breathed out before helping himself.

"Bingo."

"And what happened to the boy?" asked Ed, though he already suspected the answer.

"They executed him the next day," said Maes with a sigh. "Disgusted, Roy made an appeal to be transferred to a different division and has been bearing a grudge on Connors and Fawcette since."

Ed sighed as well. And for once ever since he'd been under the service of that man, Ed approved of Roy's actions and could feel something that could almost be labelled as sympathy.

"Well, this payback game has worked to this guy's advantage," he finally noted, pointing at the always-quiet patient.

Maes nodded. "Yes, it has. But it's true that Roy, and any one of us, can only do that much. If we are to get any closer to the truth, the guy must start understanding our language and even start using it."

"Erm…"

Alphonse quickly stopped himself from saying anything else, but it was too late. He had got his brother and the two soldiers' attention.

"Is something wrong, Al?" asked Ed, concerned.

Al fidgeted, showing to all how a suit of armour could actually be nervous. "C-could be nothing," he faltered lamely. "It's just a silly thing…"

"Al, I'm your older brother," Ed reminded him. "I'll decide if something is silly or not, okay? So what is it?"

Al mumbled something.

"Alphonse, we didn't quite catch that," noted Maes.

In the end, the suit of armour broke down and let it out. "I think… I _think_…" he emphasized the word, "he became angry when Fawcette called him an…." he lowered his voice as he cast a brief glance at the patient, "ape. He squeezed my hand and I saw him gnashing his teeth."

Maes looked at Al incredulously, then at the patient, who was now apparently sleeping, because his eyes were closed. Suddenly, he let out a snort of laughter.

That certainly made Al bow his head in shame.

"What's so funny?" asked Edward defensively on behalf of his brother.

"No, Al's got nothing to do with it," Hughes quickly answered amid his laughing fits as he tried to compose himself. "I just…" another series of laughter, "I never thought we'd have another Edward Elric in this room!"

"Oh, joy," Havoc said then in mock-grimness, "As if things weren't bad enough with just the original one and his height complex."

"I have no height complex, thank you very much!" cried Ed, his face red. "I just don't like being called…" he immediately stopped himself, before saying the taboo word.

"Short, Chief?" Havoc completed for him, grinning.

"Now you're dead!" Edward declared, his teeth seeming like fangs in his anger as he lunged at Havoc.

Having a good survival instinct, Havoc did the wisest thing under the circumstances. He rushed out of the room and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Young Edward, however, _wasn't_ someone to be deterred that easily. He hurried out as well, crying to Havoc to get back that instant.

Such was Maes and Al's surprise at that that they could do nothing but watch embarrassedly as lieutenant and young alchemist vanished from view, the cries of surprised nurses and exclamations of indignant doctors the only sign to them that the chase continued on as strongly as ever. They both heaved a sigh.

"Let's hope Ed won't hurt Havoc _too_ much."

"Yes, sir."

"But, in all seriousness, what you said is very interesting, Al," said Maes thoughtfully.

"Really?" asked Al, certainly surprised.

Maes leant close to the suit of armour. "It means that our 'friend' doesn't suffer from any mental breakdown at all." He grinned when he witnessed Al almost jump and look at the sleeping form.

"Does that mean he can understand us?" Al asked again.

"No. My guess is that he doesn't know what to do. He's surrounded by people he doesn't know; an environment that seems hostile in his eyes; and he has no means of communication. In other words, he's trapped and just going along with the ride."

"So, what should we do?" Al wanted to help, that much was clear.

Maes just shrugged. "Talk to him and as much as possible at that. The fact that he immediately recognised the word 'ape', even though he heard it only once, shows that he catches on pretty fast. Just as well, for he'll have to depend on his brains a lot if he's to learn. Who knows, he might soon understand enough that he will wish to reach out; sooner than we might expect."

"I hope so," said Al.

It was then that Ed came back, looking pleased with himself, followed by a black-eyed Havoc; and, as soon as matters were explained to them also, the conversation drifted to other, lighter matters.

___________________

_I do not know how many days it has been since I was brought here. The only means that I can measure time is through the change of guards, and it is certainly not enough. Yet I am by no means idle. I keep listening to everything that everyone says, whether it is addressed to me or not, in the hopes of grasping the meaning of the words. The Armour is quite helpful, since he speaks to me about all kinds of things, and even reads to me from time to time._

_As the days pass by, I am finally able to register the fact that I _can_ understand a few phrases. First the greetings, then expressions of thanks, then expressions of praise. Soon enough, the few words become much more, and I begin to have a firm grasp of comprehending the language I am taught. And now I can even place names on the people watching me, as I am finally able to distinguish the difference between a name and a word._

_There is Havoc, the fair-haired soldier; Hughes, one of my two tutors; Mustang, or else known as the Colonel; Alphonse, the armour with the child's voice; and Edward, the child with the grimness of an adult._

_All of them as different from the other as night from day._

_And two of them far too different than I could have possibly imagined._

_I have been observing Edward and Alphonse the longest, and the more I learn about them, the more puzzled I become. What is the burden that weighs on Edward's shoulders so heavily? His look is always so haunted, sad and full of regret, even though he tries hard to hide it behind a mask of stubbornness and determination. I cannot help but feel for him. No child should be as aged as he is, not someone who seems almost as old as my son. What comforts me is that Alphonse seems like the sunlight to him, offering him warmth and solace with his presence alone. _

_There is a bond between them, unlike the one the other three men share; that much I can understand. I still recall the night that I saw Alphonse gently cover a sleeping Edward with an overcoat. I am not surprised at that gesture anymore, for I have been witness to Alphonse's kindness and compassion. Yet what has brought these two together and so close?_

_And when I finally come to realise what is the word 'brother' that Alphonse keeps calling Edward, I suddenly feel torn between understanding where this love they share comes from and confused as to what kind of curse was placed upon them to have such odd shapes. And does it have a connection with Edward's burden?_

_I am not certain if I will ever be destined to know. But I would like to._

_______________

_I know I am dreaming; yet I do not care. I sleep on, images of my life passing before me. I see myself as a child again, playing with my brother; then everything dissolves into a smiling Faramir who tries to teach me how to shoot an arrow; to my wife's form, as I hold her tightly in my arms and she whispers her love to me; to Bergil, still an unburdened boy that I hold him in the air and he cries his joy._

_Then other cries reach my ears, the cries of a hurt child. I snap my eyes open._

_Bergil?_

_No. It is Edward. My gaze quickly drifts to the small form as he sleeps on the chair, and my heart wrenches to see him trembling, clearly in pain._

"Brother, please…"

_As my eyes become better accustomed to the semi-darkness of the room, I also manage to see Alphonse. He is at a loss and close to panicking._

"No… let me go…"

"Brother, please, wake up!"

_Yet Edward does not. He is too far-gone in the land of dreams. _"My fault… All my fault."

_I bit my lower lip, trying to decide what I must do. I do not wish for the boy to suffer in such a way, yet I do not wish to frighten either of them if I try to address them._

_But what if that boy were Bergil? _

_That thought has made me reach my decision. I rise slowly, feeling my limbs numb after staying in bed for so long, and I walk up to them. _

_Alphonse almost jumps with surprise and fright when he sees me next to him, yet he quickly composes himself and looks at me in, what I think it is, a questioning manner. _

"Mother!"

_The cry of anguish makes Alphonse remember himself and starts shaking Edward's shoulders lightly._

"Brother…" _His voice is tearful, and I cannot bear it in my heart. I clasp my hand on his arm._

"B-bed," _I manage to stutter, surprised to hear the foreign language slip out of my lips in such an awkward manner. _"Edward… on bed."

_After many moments of apparent stunned silence, Alphonse nods his understanding. He picks up Edward. _

_Though the boy stirs at the movement, he doesn't wake up. He merely makes himself smaller against Alphonse's body, letting out another moan of pain. _

_Sighing sadly, Alphonse walks to the bed and places his brother down, covering him tenderly with the blanket. _

_It is still not enough though. Edward starts tossing in his sleep, begging his mother and Alphonse for forgiveness repeatedly._

_If a suit of armour could cry, I think Alphonse would have done so at that instant._

_And it is then that I decide that this will not do. As the boy still trembles, I do the only thing I know, still remembering the days I had to quieten my son from his own nightmares._

"Losto, chên. Sedho, hodo. Drego um ôl," (Sleep, child. Hold still, rest. May the nightmare flee) _I whisper close to him and, before realising it, I push back the sweat-drenched blond bangs away from his face._

_In a matter of moments, whether by the words itself or the soothing touch, Edward's breathing becomes calmer and, after heaving one last deep sigh as though ridding himself of the last traces of the nightmare, he finally settles to a peaceful slumber._

_I cannot help but smile. His face, as Edward still sleeps on, truly resembles a child's now - as it should be. Suddenly, Alphonse takes my hand in his own, looking at me with eyes that shine brilliantly._

"Thank you."

_Unsure of what to do next, yet wishing to indulge him, I merely squeeze his hand reassuringly._

_________________

Ed curled himself further, taking in the pleasant warmth that surrounded him. He didn't even bother to open his eyes, even though he was becoming alert once more. It was strange, but for some odd reason he felt safer than he ever did in a long time and he wanted to stay that way.

"Brother?"

Ed sighed a bit, and stubbornly kept his eyes shut. "Not now, Al. I'm still sleeping."

Suddenly, Havoc's voice was heard out of nowhere. "And you can keep on sleeping if you want, Chief. But you've got to hear the news first."

Finally, Ed opened an eye and looked at Havoc, who was just a little away from him. "What news?"

"Mustang called about five minutes ago. The real culprit, a Thomas Guyton, was caught an hour ago when he attempted an attack on another woman. Unfortunately he came across her guard dog first and so she was able to call for help. The bastard didn't even bother to deny committing the previous murders when he was arrested."

Ed chuckled. "Guess he became careless in choosing his victims, huh?"

"Yeah," said Havoc, smiling. "But that's not all."

Ed now opened both eyes, intrigued; and he was stunned to see that there was _another_ man standing next to Havoc and Al, his eyes now alert and brilliant with life. He got up and stared at him incredulously.

"Hello, Edward," said the man, his voice hesitant and thick with accent. He was clearly uncertain if he was using the correct words.

At a loss, all Ed found himself able to do was take the hand the man extended and shake it a bit in greeting.

"Glad to meet you, mr…?"

The man didn't understand the question. He looked confused at Alphonse, who was, in turn, happy to oblige.

"His name is Beregond."


	7. Lost

When Roy made the phone call to inform Ed, Al and Havoc that the murderer was under arrest, it was natural that Havoc told him of his own share of news. So, soon enough, the Colonel had arrived with Hughes and Fuery at the hospital to see the patient for himself.

"This is incredible!" said Maes, hardly able to contain his excitement as he saw Beregond. "I knew you would learn fast, but _this_ fast was beyond any of my expectations!"

Beregond only half-smiled, embarrassed.

"Maes, we didn't come here for idle talk," said Roy, shaking his head. He turned to Edward and the others. "Did he get to tell you anything else except for his name?"

"No, Sir!" was both Havoc and Al's unanimous answer. Ed settled with a simple "No."

"Very well," Roy said and settled down on a chair nearby. "Fuery, take down everything that will be said in this interrogation."

Fuery nodded and sat down, his papers and typewriter ready at hand.

"Havoc and Fullmetal, you will be witnesses."

Both Jean and Ed sat down as well, understanding.

"Al, stay with Mr. Beregond and help him understand what he will be asked, okay?"

"Yes, Sir!" answered Al. He sat next to Beregond, who was looking at everyone nervously.

"Good." Roy nodded at Maes. "You may start, Hughes."

"Right." Maes cleared his throat and turned to Beregond. "Name?"

Beregond understood that one. He said his name.

Maes nodded in approval. But in moments, he was frowning in confusion. "And?"

Beregond blinked.

"Is something wrong, Sir?" asked Al.

Roy sighed. "We need the full name, Alphonse. We don't even know if Beregond is his first or last name."

"Oh!" Al got ready to say something to Beregond, but he stopped midway. "But how am I to tell him that?" he asked, genuinely bewildered.

"Let me try, Al," said Maes, trying to regain control of the situation. "Beregond?"

Beregond pricked up his ears and he waited for Maes to speak.

"My name?" the lieutenant colonel asked, pointing at himself.

Beregond grinned knowingly. "Hughes."

Maes nodded and then took out a picture of his family. "Names?"

Beregond looked at them. He pointed first at the woman saying the name "Gracia"; then at the little girl, saying the name "Elysia."

"Yes." Maes pointed at the picture again. "Gracia Hughes… Elysia Hughes."

Beregond frowned a bit, clearly trying to process what he was being told.

"Your name?"

Maes earned a look that clearly asked if he were deaf. "Beregond."

Hughes almost dropped out of his chair at the answer, whereas everyone else in the room groaned. Beregond was certainly surprised by this kind of reaction.

"This is going to be a long day," declared Roy, rubbing his forehead.

In the end, however, it was decided that, if they wanted to keep their sanity intact, they should just write at the bracket of the last name "unknown". After all, as Havoc reasoned, anyone with the name Beregond didn't have all that many chances for a namesake.

Getting the name of the father was quite easy, as well as the age – although everyone was dumbstruck to hear that that young-looking man was actually forty. And when it came to ask about Beregond's line of work, they couldn't understand why he kept pointing at Al and Roy. Nor were they able to understand why he wouldn't say where he was born.

"Just put 'unknown' again, Fuery," said Mustang, rubbing his temples as he felt the first signs of a headache coming up.

And, after finally writing down all the personal data (which was filled with 'unknown' almost everywhere), there came the time to ask the more important questions.

"When Havoc found you, what were you doing?"

Beregond didn't answer for some time. "Ran."

"You were running," Maes gently corrected. "Why?"

This time Beregond stared at everyone for many long moments, his mind clearly in turmoil.

"Afraid. Wanted… go home."

"Where is 'home', Beregond?" asked Maes, more in the hopes that Beregond would open up this time and say where did he come from.

To everyone's concern, Beregond started breathing heavily, his fingers grabbing strands of hair in his frustration.

"Not know."

Hughes raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You don't know?"

Beregond bowed his head. "No."

Just then, the door opened and a doctor came in. He was certainly surprised to see all that many people in the room. "You are all still here?" he asked. He turned to Mustang. "Colonel, you have to wrap this up, please; I told you not to exert the patient when I gave you permission to interrogate him."

"I'm afraid, doctor, what we've got so far is next to nothing," said Roy indignantly.

"What seems to be the trouble?" asked the doctor, immediately locking his gaze on the patient.

"That is a question you'll have to answer us yourself, doctor," answered Maes. He pointed at Beregond. "He cannot answer to some important questions of ours, and I don't think it is because of his ignorance of our language."

"Really?" said the doctor, intrigued. He stepped close to Beregond and checked his eyes with a small flashlight. "May I see the questions you've asked him so far?"

With a nod from Roy, Fuery passed the notes to the doctor, who looked at them closely; then started examining Beregond's head.

"The car hit him, correct?" he asked, still his eyes on Beregond's head.

"Yes," answered Maes.

"And before that he said he was running, afraid?"

"Correct."

"I see." The doctor let go of Beregond's head, and asked everyone to come closer so as to confide in them. "Gentlemen, I think the answer is quite simple. The patient's most probably suffering from a case of memory loss. It is a common symptom to both those who suffer from head injuries and mental trauma. Since I don't see any visible wounds on his head, I think I might venture to say that the latter seems to be the case for this patient."

"But how is that possible?" asked Havoc. "He _could_ answer some questions."

"The brain is more complicated than it appears," the doctor said. "When one is going under serious mental trauma, it has the ability to erase any memories that seem to distress the individual, while those that cannot harm him are left intact. It's a simple defence mechanism."

Everyone frowned at this. They certainly didn't expect that turn of events.

"And is there any possible way that he might retrieve those memories?" asked Ed.

"I'm afraid that it depends on what kind of mental trauma it was and how willing the patient is to face those memories. It might take him a few days; a few months; maybe never."

"But we need to complete this interrogation!" said Roy. "There are too many questions that need answers and only _he_ can provide them."

"Then, Colonel, I'm afraid you'll have to wait," said the doctor gracefully, yet with finality. "He's not some light bulb that you can just turn on whenever you want. _He_ must consider himself ready before you can ask him anything."

The colonel huffed, seeing the doctor's point.

"When do you think you can discharge him?" he asked then.

"Actually, that is the purpose of my visit here," explained the doctor. "I wanted to have one last check up on him so, if he's healthy, he can leave even today."

"Very well," said Mustang with a nod. "We'll just be outside, waiting for you." And with a small commanding gesture, they all walked out.

"Damn it!" he hissed under his breath, as soon as the door closed behind him.

"Well, there's nothing much we can do, Sir," ventured Fuery. "It's either wait or fill the whole form with 'unknown'."

"Are they really unknown to him?" wondered Maes thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" asked Ed. "You heard what the doctor said. Beregond has amnesia."

"The doctor also said that Beregond was suffering from a mental breakdown," argued Hughes.

"Which means we should take all measures possible," said Roy. "Mr. Beregond's most probably withholding information. It'll be our job to make sure to find out what kind of information it is."

Havoc locked his gaze on Mustang. "You're planning on having Beregond followed as soon as he gets discharged, aren't you?"

Roy smirked. "Exactly. And I know the right person for this kind of work."

By instinct, everyone's eyes rested on Ed, who looked back at them, dumbfounded.

_________________

Brigadier Colonel Connors was in his office when there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" He looked up at the sound of the door opening. "Ah, Lieutenant Colonel. Be seated."

Fawcette did just that. "Have you heard the latest news, sir?"

Connors' jaw clenched. "I did, yes." He put down his pen and started pacing up and down the room. "So, Colonel Roy Mustang's men found the real murderer of East City."

"It appears so."

Connors turned on his heel and faced his subordinate. "You realise, of course, that that makes us look bad."

Fawcette scowled. "The man we arrested seemed guilty."

"Except that there's a difference between seeming guilty and actually being one, Mr. Fawcette," said Connors. His look was growing more and more stern. "Or should I remind you of that little… incident during the Ishbal War?"

"That one had worked to our advantage," argued Fawcette.

"But this one hasn't." Connors lowered his voice and placed both hands on the arms of the chair where Fawcette was sitting. "They say that a conjurer doesn't perform the same trick twice in a row, otherwise there's chance that the audience will suspect the trick he played on them. We're now in that position, Fawcette, because of you."

Fawcette's eyes narrowed. "With all due respect, sir, it was you who insisted that I could arrest that…"

"And you were so overconfident that you became careless." Connors voice became even lower now, and dangerously calm. "Everything's part of a big chain, Fawcette. When one link breaks, all the chain falls apart. And we don't want that now, do we?"

This time Fawcette didn't feel so brave to stand up to his superior's argument. "No, Sir."

Connors smiled, yet that smile hardly reached his eyes to cover the malice and cruelty reflected within them. "Good." He went again back behind his office and sat down. "Keeping that in mind, I want you to do something else for me."

"Yes, Sir?"

"That man Mustang's been cajoling… Did you get a name?"

A nod. "It was too strange to be forgotten easily. It was Beregond."

Connors frowned. "Is that a first or a last name?"

"Not sure," answered Fawcette with a shrug of his shoulders. "Sounds more like a last name to me."

But Connors was already waving his hand dismissively. "No matter. If anything, your job will be easier. How hard is it to find any information concerning a person with that kind of name?" He smiled meaningfully.

Fawcette blinked for a moment in confusion; then smiled as he caught on.

Connors nodded. "I want you to find everything about him, especially anything that could make our dear Mr. Mustang lose face with the military." His grin only became broader and more cynical. "After all, everyone has secrets that they don't want them out."

________________

_As I find out today, healers are alike everywhere. They always send an uneasy feeling in my heart, even when they are attempting to be pleasant._

_That is what happens again. The healer is by no means discourteous in any way, yet his smile has a quality that seems overindulging._

_I understand why soon enough. Finally deemed healthy, I am to leave this room for good. _

_I never expected it, but the notion frightens me. In this room I am out of harm's way, I am protected. I have come to know the people who visited me so often and that made up, even if only a little, the void that has been residing in my heart ever since I have arrived in this world._

_Yet where am I to go now? Who and, more importantly, _what_ am I to face?_

_It is true what they say: what is unknown causes far more dread anyone could have thought possible. I do not even have the strength to lift my head as a woman clothed in white places my belongings on my bed and then walks out without so much as a word. I merely reach for them with my hand, feeling them under my fingers as though assuring myself that everything is real and they are indeed before me._

_My armour. My boots. My shirt and my breeches. That is all that is left from the world that I can claim as mine._

_And then there is the pendant. The one of the two things I was holding on to when…_

_My hands clench into fists._

_I should still have my son with me, not this! _

_As the fire of rage is ignited within me, I grab the vile thing and I am ready to throw it out of the window._

_I never do. My hand never lets go of it._

_Why?_

_I look at it closely. It is small and round; golden, with a single symbol engraved on it to resemble a star with five points; and a cord is attached to it, which explains the reason it broke off so easily on my struggle with Dûrinas. All in all, it is a trinket that I could not possibly care for._

_Yet it is also one of the things that verify who I am. A token of remembrance that the world I left behind was as real as the one that is unveiled now before me. That nothing should make me forget it. _

_It is also something that will remind me not to make the same mistakes again. _

_My clenched hand goes back to my side and I put on my shirt and breeches. Lastly I put on my boots, and I wear the pendant around my neck so that it is tucked under my shirt; then I close my eyes to remind my heart of my identity._

_I am Beregond, son of Baranor, First Captain of Ithilien; loyal to the finest of lords; husband to a deceased wife; father to a murdered son. Nothing will ever change that, no matter what lies ahead on the path before me._

_And with that I walk out, where I am expected._

______________

"Why me?" asked Ed, his eyes widening.

Roy made an expression as though thinking. "Well, let me see, Fullmetal. One has to be inconspicuous when following someone, and, let's face it, the only one among us who doesn't quite… _stand out_, is you."

"What you are really saying is that I'm…" Ed never completed his sentence. He had become too busy struggling against Al, who had grabbed him from the scruff of his neck in fear that his brother would do the colonel some injury.

"It's a quality that you can put into good use for a change," argued Roy with a shrug, yet the teasing tone audible in his voice. "But, don't worry, you won't be alone. I'll be with you to offer backup."

Ed snorted. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Roy's lower lip quivered in mock distress. "You don't like my company? Now I'm hurt."

Ed didn't bother with an answer this time. He simply scowled.

Suddenly, the sound of someone clearing his throat made everyone turn around. It was Beregond, now dressed plainly, a large bag in which he obviously had his armour resting on his shoulder, and an unreadable expression on his face. It was a wonder to see that strongly built, tall man walking toward them as meekly as a lamb and, in fact, Ed caught himself thinking that Beregond resembled an adult version of Alphonse by the way he was behaving.

"Well, Mr. Beregond, it seems that you're as free as a bird," said Roy, smiling – a tad too much for someone who happened to know Mustang.

All Beregond did was smile embarrassingly; then looked at Havoc in a friendly manner and extended his hand.

"Thank you… for the help."

Havoc was taken aback by the gesture, but he took the hand and shook it.

"You're welcome. Good luck, Beregond."

Beregond smiled a bit, and repeated the handshake with all of them, leaving Al and Ed last. As they shook hands, Edward couldn't help but feel that there was a look of sadness in the man's eyes. Before he had the chance to wonder at it further though, it had vanished to be replaced with an expression of determination.

"Goodbye," Beregond finally said and, after adjusting better the pack on his shoulders, he started walking away.

Everyone waved their own farewell. Everyone, that is, except for Al, who, surprisingly, only bowed his head and looked away.

Ed, meanwhile, got ready to follow Beregond, but Roy stopped him.

"What?" Edward asked incredulously. "Didn't you say…?"

"We wait. He's still within eyesight," Roy cut him off. He turned towards Havoc. "Havoc, drive the rest back to Headquarters; Fullmetal and I will find you there once we discover Mr. Beregond's haunts."

"Yes, sir," acknowledged Havoc with a salute.

"Colonel, he is about to turn," said then Ed.

Truly enough, everyone could see the form of Beregond quite a distance away from them, standing in indecision; then taking a course to the left.

"Right. Time to go," declared Roy. "Come on, Fullmetal."

And with that, both he and Ed started following their target.

"Well, you heard Mustang. It's time for us to go," said Maes.

Fuery nodded and walked towards the car, soon to be followed by a very reluctant Havoc.

Alphonse didn't move an inch.

"Al?"

The armour sighed. "It just doesn't feel right, Sir. It feels like we're tricking him."

Maes straightened his glasses in discomfort. "I know, Al; these are my sentiments, too. But, you have to admit, his behaviour is a lot more than just suspicious."

"But, Sir, he isn't a bad person!" said Al defensively. "I know he isn't! When Brother had that nightmare…"

"… he offered his bed and stood with you by Edward's side; you've already told me that story." Al was ready to argue, but Maes stopped him. "Don't get me wrong, he doesn't strike me as bad either. And I can even tell you with certainty he didn't strike as bad to Havoc. But, Al, for better or for worse, we're living in a world where only gut-feeling just isn't enough. Do you understand?"

Al nodded weakly. "Yes, Sir."

"Good," Maes said with a smile. "Now come. Havoc and Fuery are waiting for us."

______________________

Meanwhile, Roy and Ed had quickened their pace and were ready to turn, when Roy suddenly stopped on his tracks – too suddenly for Ed, who bumped onto the colonel.

"Hey!" Ed exclaimed angrily. "Can't you give a little warning first before…?"

He never finished his sentence, because Roy had grabbed him and pushed him against the wall, covering his mouth with his hand. But Ed wouldn't be subdued that easily, and in an instant Roy was doing his best not to shout his pain when Ed bit him.

"Are you out of your mind?" was what a – very – pissed off young alchemist about to say, but Roy proved faster.

"He's stopped walking," he explained in a hiss, rubbing his throbbing hand.

All feelings of anger ebbed away to be replaced with surprise. With eyes widened in disbelief, Ed ventured a peek around the corner.

Beregond had indeed stopped walking. In fact, he seemed to have turned into a statue, he was that still as he stood in the middle of the road, the pack now resting on the ground beside him.

"What is he doing?" he wondered, mumbling to himself.

"I don't know," answered Roy, who was now watching the scene with the same interest Ed did. "Let's just hope he won't turn around because of your screaming bloody murder," he added, rather acidly.

"I wasn't that loud," Edward said indignantly.

Roy snorted. "If you were a little louder, Fullmetal, everyone in the surrounding buildings would come out on their windows to see the screaming baby."

Edward saw red at that moment, but Roy shushed him before he said anything.

"He's on the move."

Both alchemists watched Beregond take a few more hesitant steps forward. But, to their surprise, he stopped again, and now he was shaking his head. The next thing they knew, Beregond was sitting against a wall nearby, hugging his knees and burying his head in his arms.

"Maybe he's waiting for someone?" Ed asked.

Roy clicked his tongue. "Only one way to find out, don't you think? We'll wait, too."

"But if a car comes and picks him up…"

"Then let's hope it doesn't, okay?"

And with that, they both fell silent.

________________

When night finally settled in, Beregond hadn't moved; neither the two alchemists, who could barely stand after so many hours of waiting.

"Why isn't he _going_ anywhere?" Roy hissed, punching his fist against the wall in frustration. He looked at Ed. "He heard you and now he's toying with us; that's the only explanation I can come up with."

"If he heard me, don't you think he would have recognised my voice and called out?"

"I don't see why he would do that."

"And I don't see why he _wouldn't!_" Ed argued. "He knows us both! Anyone would have been glad to hear a familiar voice when stranded in a place they don't know, no knowledge of the language and…" He stopped.

"Fullmetal?"

Yet Ed wasn't paying any attention to Roy any more, he only looked towards Beregond. Suddenly, and with his eyes always locked on the sitting form, he started walking toward him.

"Where are you going?" Roy exclaimed, agape. "Get back here!"

All Ed did was wave his hand to Roy in a gesture that clearly meant "Calm down, I know what I'm doing"; and kept walking.

Groaning, Roy rolled his eyes and, clearly thinking that their cover was blown anyway, he followed his subordinate, watching him as he knelt beside the man they were supposed to follow.

"Beregond?"

At the gentle call of his name, Beregond looked up, startled. Ed wondered to see that the man's face resembled the embodiment of defeat. He was in fact surprised that Beregond had even the strength to smile at him and Mustang, though faded that smile was.

"Um… what are you doing here?" he asked. After all, telling somebody that he was followed wasn't the best of options.

Beregond only shrugged in a passive manner.

"You aren't planning on spending the night here, are you?" asked Roy, raising an eyebrow of curiosity.

The only answer the alchemists got from Beregond this time was a clenching of the jaw.

"You don't have a place to go to, is that it?"

Beregond's reaction came out as a surprise to Roy and Ed. The sadness in his expression was gone in seconds and, for the first time, _anger_ was etched in those usually meek features. And they still remained there as he quickly arose and, grabbing his pack, he started walking away again.

"Mr. Beregond…" Roy was about to say.

That made the man turn abruptly; and even under the faint light of the street lamp, both Roy and Ed could clearly see that Beregond's face had become crimson in wrath and frustration.

"Feel… sorry?" he finally managed to say, his voice resembling a growl. His hands were turned into fists and they were trembling.

Ed actually flinched momentarily, but he stood his ground. "We just wanted to help," he explained.

"No help!" Beregond was practically shouting now. "No favour!"

"It's not a favour, mr. Beregond. Will you please listen?" said then Roy.

The commanding tone made Beregond stop. Nevertheless, the angry stare was still in his eyes and it was clear that, at the wrong word, he was ready to storm away.

"Mr. Beregond, it's clear that you know almost nothing of this city or its people. Why do you wish to struggle so hard to learn when we could teach you?" said Roy, and tentatively placed an arm on Beregond's shoulder. "Once you find out some important things, you'll be able to stand on your own two feet, don't you agree? Wouldn't you rather have someone you're already familiar with to help you out? As you would help out someone who hadn't been before in _your_ city?"

Ed watched on as Roy still talked, for once glad that the colonel was such a smooth diplomat. And it seemed that Roy finally struck a cord, for Beregond's anger was slowly ebbing away to be replaced with confusion.

"Why?" The question was soft, almost childlike – a thing surprising, considering an adult asked it; yet there was also a tinge of such bitterness and pain in it that Ed found almost unbearable to hear. "Why help?"

Roy smiled. "Because both I and Edward know what it means not to have a home. We lost it, too - long ago."

That finally seemed to appease the man.

"But… not want make trouble."

"No trouble whatsoever," said then Ed, smiling. "We'll find a place for you to stay, and every once in a while one of us can drop by to see how you're doing. Okay?"

Beregond didn't speak for many long moments; then nodded. "Okay."

"Good. Let's go then," said Roy. "I need to phone Havoc to come and pick us up."

Though it was clear that Beregond didn't understand what Roy said this time (except for the name Havoc), he smiled a bit and followed the two alchemists willingly.

"Colonel?" whispered Ed, making sure that Beregond wouldn't notice him. "Did you lose a home, too?" He hadn't heard of that before and, somehow, it touched him to find out something more about Mustang.

Roy smirked. "No. I just had to say something so our friend wouldn't leave."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Nice job."

"Thanks," Roy replied, his smirk broadening. "And speaking of job, I have a new assignment for you."

Ed actually cringed. "You do?"

Roy nodded. "Why find a place for him when there's already one? And I'm sure Alphonse will appreciate the company; it's clear that he's taken a liking to him," he said meaningfully.

"What?! He's to stay with me and Al?" Ed exclaimed. "But, Colonel, we were planning on going…"

"If we're to keep an eye on him, it's best we do that at all hours and through someone who our 'friend' here will not become suspicious of." Just then, Roy grinned. "Besides, I think it's a fair enough punishment for disobeying orders and biting your commanding officer's hand."

Ed sighed, dejected. It didn't help matters that Beregond was looking at both of them, perplexed, clearly wishing to know what they were talking about.


	8. Adapting

"Well, here we are," Ed declared. He opened the door of the house he and Al had got with Ed's recruitment in the military; then walked inside, hardly looking behind as he said: "Make yourself at home." He threw his overcoat over a chair and collapsed on the couch with a tired sigh.

Beregond still stood by the entrance, looking a bit apprehensively inside.

"Don't be afraid," Al said, still standing behind the man. "Go on."

Finally Beregond complied, yet he didn't sit down. He just remained staring at the scarce furniture and plain walls, his look a mix of interest, curiosity and timidity.

"It's not much," Al said apologetically. "But it's still a roof over our heads."

"No problem," Beregond replied at once in encouragement. "Like it."

That seemed to cheer up Alphonse a bit. In fact, if he weren't a suit of armour, he would have smiled broadly.

"Here, let me show you the rest of the house!" he said excitedly, practically grabbing the man from the hand and dragging him along with him. In a matter of moments, he had shown Beregond everything: the bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, as well as everything _within_ those rooms – lamps, cupboards, wardrobes, the stacks of books and much more. Suddenly, Al realised something.

"You and Brother must be hungry. Let's go to the kitchen so I can prepare something for you to eat."

"No need…" Beregond tried to say, embarrassed.

"Oh, it's no problem. I'll make something in no time!" Al said reassuringly, and opened the fridge. At the next moment, however, he exclaimed his surprise at what he saw.

"What the…? Brother!" he called. "There's nothing here!"

"No?" asked Ed from the living room; then came with heavy footsteps to the kitchen to see for himself.

Indeed, there were only a couple of apples, more than half-rotten, and something that, if one looked closely enough, they would be able to venture that it somewhat resembled a piece of pie.

Ed grinned sheepishly. "I knew I had forgotten to do something yesterday."

But Al was already shaking his head in disapproval.

"We'll get something tomorrow," the blond added, more in an attempt to appease his brother.

"We definitely will," Al said, determined. "I wonder what you'd do if I had to stay longer in the hospital with Beregond."

"Probably starve to death," Ed said, trying to lighten things up.

"Brother, that's not funny."

"Sorry, Al."

Just then, both brothers noticed that Beregond was watching their conversation with interest, something that made them feel quite self-conscious. They really had to get used to the idea that they weren't alone in this house any longer.

"Okay," Ed declared, clearing his throat. "Al, don't you think we should show Beregond where he'll be sleeping?"

Al, surprisingly, seemed unwilling to do so just yet. "I, uh… was actually hoping to show him the radio first."

That brought a smile to Ed's face. "Of course. I'll just have a shower and I'm going to turn in, all right?"

Al nodded his acknowledgement. As soon as Ed headed for the bathroom, the suit of armour dragged Beregond to see the radio.

______________________

With the day's tension washed away from his body, Ed wanted nothing else than sleep, so he slipped under the bed covers and closed his eyes. He had almost fallen asleep, when the creaking sound of a door opening made him open one eye in curiosity.

"Al?"

"Yeah. Can I come in?"

"Sure." Ed sat up wearily, rubbing the slumber off his eyes. "What is it?" He looked behind Al as the armour came in. "Isn't Beregond with you?"

"No, he's settled on the couch and he's sleeping now." Al's eyes suddenly flashed brilliantly. "You should've seen him when I turned the radio on. He kept looking around it to see where was the spokesperson!"

Ed couldn't help but chuckle. "Like a kid, huh?" He patted the bed to make Al sit next to him. "But that's not what you came to talk to me about, right?"

Al shook his head. "I was just wondering how long he's going to stay."

Ed pondered on the question for a couple of moments, contemplating on what the best answer to that would be. "Well, Mustang said that Beregond is to stay here for as long as it takes. In fact, he gave me orders that I should take down every bit of information I can get by observing him and leave it on his office once a week. This is a rather slow process and it could take quite a while."

"Oh." Al thought of that for a bit. "So our visit to Dr. Marcoh…"

"Yeah. I'm afraid it'll have to wait."

There was silence for a while.

"Does that mean I can keep teaching him?"

"Of course," said Ed, smiling.

"Yes!" In an instant, Al gave Ed a huge bear hug.

"Al… can't… breathe…" the blond said, half-teasing, half-serious.

"Sorry." Al let go of his brother and got ready to walk out. "Brother? What are you planning to do tomorrow?"

"I wanted to check some books at the library," answered Ed before noticing the body posture of his brother. Being acquainted with what kind of feelings Al could express even under that suit of armour, he grinned knowingly. "You and Beregond can come, too. Just make sure he behaves."

"I promise!" Al assured him. "Goodnight, Brother."

"Goodnight, Al."

And with that small matter taken care of as well, Ed finally settled on his bed and let peaceful slumber claim him.

____________________________

The next day Ed arose to notice that both Al and Beregond were already awake; he could hear voices outside his room. Rising, he went up to the door and took a peek through the opening.

Al and Beregond were sitting on the couch, and Al was holding up the man's hand.

"What's this?"

"Hand," Beregond quickly answered.

"And these?"

"Fingers."

"Right. Thumb, index, middle, ring and small finger," Al said, gripping slightly each of Beregond's fingers. "Can you show them in _my_ hand?"

"Okay…"

Ed smiled at the scene, for it was a long time since he had last seen his brother so enthusiastic. It was a welcome change, to say the least, and he felt bad for interrupting them by walking in.

Both Al and Beregond looked at his direction.

"Hi, Brother."

"Hello, Edward."

"Good morning," said Ed, stretching his limbs and scratching the back of his neck. "What time is it?"

"Half past eight," Al answered. "There's breakfast for you on the table, if you want."

"Eggs, pancakes, juice and s… sau…" Beregond frowned, as he couldn't remember the last word.

"Sausages," Al gently helped. "I've been teaching him some words of food, while we were at it," the armour explained to Ed, who was looking now at Beregond with a raised eyebrow.

"It's not that," Ed said. He looked at the table, where there was indeed everything that Beregond had just recited, and then at Al again. "When did you get all this stuff?"

"Just before you woke up."

"Alone?"

"Beregond was with me. He was kind of bored in the house and I didn't want him to disturb your sleep." Al's fingers twitched nervously. "Did I do something wrong?"

Ed immediately shook his head. "No, Al, it's just…" A sigh escaped his lips. "You could at least let me know where you were going."

Alphonse bowed his head. "I understand."

Edward shuffled his legs, but soon huffed to rid his nervousness away. "Well, I had better eat. Did Beregond have anything?"

"Yeah, don't worry," answered Al.

"You do remember we have to go to the library though?" the blond asked.

"That's right!" Al exclaimed. He turned to Beregond. "Do you remember what a shower is?"

Beregond looked uncertain for a moment. "In bathroom?"

"Yeah. Do you remember how it works?"

The man nodded. "Wash body."

"Right. So I'll give you some fresh towels and then you can go in to wash."

Beregond nodded his acknowledgement. When he got the towels, he went into the bathroom, and in less than a quarter of an hour he was out again, refreshed, his hair dripping with water and, to the brothers' puzzlement, with soap all over his face.

Beregond didn't seem to notice the odd looks he was receiving though. He just walked up to the table, where Edward was now reading today's newspaper after finishing his breakfast.

"Take it?" Beregond asked, pointing towards the plate and cutlery.

Edward and Al looked at the man for a moment, not understanding. Then, after both of them figured that Beregond simply wanted to be helpful and clear the table, they gave their consent.

"Thank you." And with that, Beregond grabbed the knife and headed back to the bathroom.

"What do you want the knife for?!" Ed exclaimed with eyes widened.

"Shave!" And the door was closed once more.

Ed made a face that could only be described as a mix of realisation and utter disgust.

"Al… we're getting a new bread knife."

"Okay," was the embarrassed – and immediate - answer.

________________________

Half an hour later, Ed, Al and Beregond entered the library and walked along the corridors of books. Or, at least, _tried_ to, since Al had to retrace his steps every once in a while and retrieve a wide-eyed, gawping Beregond. "Many books," Beregond kept offering as an excuse, which, of course, kept resulting to Edward's usual answer: "Yeah, that's why it's called a library."

In spite of that, the three of them finally reached to the section Ed was looking for. Knowing by now the library like the back of his hand after so many visits to it, Ed immediately headed for the book he meant to read today, and grabbed a book for Al as well.

Beregond looked at them for a moment; then at the books; and reached for one, too. He couldn't read yet, of course, he was aware of that, but perhaps he could look at the illustrations. If anything, that would be more helpful than not.

"Beregond?"

Beregond immediately placed his hands on his sides, as though caught red-handed doing something bad.

"Look at any book you like," Al said, a trace of a smile detected in his words. "Just don't walk too far away."

And with that, he resumed his studying.

Beregond nodded a bit, and then let his gaze drift on all the titles in front of him. He looked at them, recognising the letters one by one, slowly and surely. It was an achievement that he could identify the letters; but it was frustrating not to be able to understand what words these letters were forming. He hoped Alphonse would teach him how to read soon. After all, being able to speak the new language might have been a breakthrough to him, but he still felt like blind, trying to fumble his way through things.

Sighing, he walked a little further away to look up at more titles, checking out the letters and their colouring, finding thus a way of passing his time. Soon enough, he had read some more titles, farther away from the brothers, and at the next moment even more and even farther…

"Hi!"

Beregond almost jumped to hear someone so close to him. To his surprise it was only a little girl, no more than seven years old.

"Hello," Beregond said with a little smile.

"What's your name?"

The man hesitated momentarily. "Beregond. What's _your_ name?"

"Alice. My mum works here in the library, so I can help you, if you want," answered the girl in a friendly manner. "What book are you looking for?"

Beregond shrugged. "Any. Show me."

The girl blinked a bit. "I don't know what you like!"

Beregond thought about it a bit. "Books _you _like."

Alice giggled. "You're too old for children's books!"

"No problem," Beregond said, grinning.

"You're weird," Alice concluded, cocking her head. Nevertheless, she showed him one of her most brilliant smiles and beckoned him to follow her. "I'll ask mum to give us my favourite ones."

"Okay." Yet somehow Beregond didn't feel comfortable agreeing to this. Alphonse _did_ tell him not to wander off. His curiosity proved stronger, however, so he just hoped he would be back to the brothers before he was missed.

_____________________________

Edward looked closely at a page on the book he was currently reading and was about to take an important note down in his journal, when he realised that there was something wrong. Then again, anyone would have realised that there was something wrong when a seven-foot suit of armour that was till then sitting quietly next to them suddenly jumped up and startled them enough to make them fall off their chair.

"This is a library!" hissed a librarian nearby, glaring at Ed.

"Sorry," Ed said at once, getting back on his feet. "Al, what is it?" he asked, keeping his voice down.

"Beregond's gone!"

Edward looked around to see that indeed the third member of their party had vanished.

"Where could he be?" Al wondered, worry evident in his voice. "I told him not to go too far away!"

"All right, just don't panic," said Ed. "He has to be around here somewhere. Let's search, okay?"

Al nodded. Still, it was clear that he would only be comforted once they found the man.

Ed huffed his annoyance at this turn of events; then, followed always by Al, he started looking at all the corridors. No luck. Giving up, he decided to ask one of the librarians at the registration desk.

"Excuse me, Miss?" he said. "We're looking for a man that was with us; dark-haired, green-hazel eyes, tall, but not as tall as my brother here…"

"A foreigner, he can't speak very well…" piped in Al.

"Oh, you must mean Mr. Beregond!" said the librarian with a broad smile. "He's at the children's books section with my daughter. I can take you to him, if you like."

Ed and Al didn't need to be told twice, of course, and so they followed her.

"Is he a friend of yours?" asked the librarian casually, as she took them to a flight of stairs on the upper floor.

"You could say that," Ed answered, not wishing to go into much detail.

"He hasn't been causing any trouble, I hope?" asked then Alphonse, wringing his hands nervously.

"No trouble whatsoever. He's one of the sweetest people I've met," the woman said, smiling. "Alice took an instant liking to him, though she's usually wary of strangers." She turned to them. "It's hard to explain it really. It's like he's a… child."

Ed mentally smirked. It seemed that everyone was falling for that childlike behaviour. He hated to admit it, but he did too at times, because it reminded him in many ways of Alphonse.

Now, however, he couldn't afford to do that anymore, for Beregond was now an assignment – nothing more, nothing less.

"Oh, we've arrived," said the librarian. "Alice!"

"Over here, Mum," sounded a voice from a far corner of the room.

At the call, all three walked into the room. Ed and Al were amazed to see that the place was filled with colourful posters and small cushions on the floor so that the children who happened to be there would be more comfortable. And they were certainly surprised to hear a child's voice, reading something that sounded like a poem.

Soon enough, they found the source of the voice and, of course, Beregond. Alice was by his side, reading to him children's poems.

"So which one did you like so far?" she asked then her new friend.

"Alice, don't you think you have tired out Mr. Beregond enough?" asked the mother. "Besides, these gentlemen were looking for him."

"Aw, Mum… can't he stay a little while longer?" the girl pleaded, her blue eyes glistening with tears ready to fall if she was denied.

"Alice, don't be selfish," her mother warned. "Mr. Beregond isn't a puppy to keep him all you like."

Alice sighed, defeated and downcast. "Yes, Mum." She turned to Beregond. "Will you come back tomorrow?"

Beregond looked apprehensively at Edward and Alphonse and then at Alice. "Not know, Alice. But soon… yes."

Alice pondered on the answer for a moment. "Okay. Don't forget."

"No," Beregond said, smiling weakly.

Ed watched the scene and he caught himself remembering a similar goodbye _he_ had to say once to another little girl. He looked at Al, who looked on the scene with the same interest. Was he thinking of Nina, too? Ed wasn't sure.

It seemed that Al _was_ thinking of her, for his next words were spoken softly and kindly.

"Beregond, you can visit her whenever Brother and I come here. And, trust me, we come pretty often."

That certainly brought Alice and Beregond a smile on their faces, and they followed the others downstairs wholeheartedly.

________________________

The rest of the day was uneventful. Once Ed and Alphonse had finished with their studying in the library and borrowed the books they wanted, they decided that Beregond should have a new set of clothes that didn't quite stand out as foreign. The shopkeeper was naturally happy to oblige and, soon enough, the brothers and Beregond (who was now in completely new attire which consisted mainly of a shirt, trousers and shoes) returned to their house with several boxes in their hands.

Though Ed and Al expected Beregond to immediately open the boxes and look at the clothes again, it was clear that Beregond was saddened about something.

"I thought you liked them," Al said, perplexed.

"Yes, but…" Beregond sighed. "Unfair."

The brothers briefly exchanged a look of confusion. "What's unfair?" Ed asked.

"The money. Give you back. Promise."

Only then did Ed and Al realise what was the matter. Beregond felt uncomfortable that the children had to make expenses on his account.

"Don't worry about it," said Al. "Think of them as 'welcome' presents."

"But--" Beregond started.

"No buts," interrupted Ed, placing his flesh hand on the man's arm. "If you want to repay us, fine. In the meantime, try not to worry too much about it, all right?"

Beregond locked his gaze on Edward's for many moments. "All right."

"Good." Ed smiled a bit; then quickly turned to Al. "Let's go prepare something in the kitchen. I'm starving."

Al hesitated to answer. "Sure."

"Want help?" asked Beregond.

"No, everything's under control. Just open the boxes and put the clothes in a drawer," said Ed, and quickly pushed Al into the kitchen.

"What was…?" started Al, as soon as the door was closed behind them.

"Shh!"

Al caught on. "What was that about?" he asked again, this time in a whisper.

But by now Ed was covering his mouth with his hand, doing his best to keep the sound of his laughter down.

"Brother?"

"Nothing," Edward finally managed to say amid his laughing fits. "I'm just thinking the look on Mustang's face when he sees how the military money for _this_ assignment was spent!"

Al didn't share the humour though. He just shook his head, clearly thinking his brother could be very evil at times.

It was at that moment that the doorbell rang. Al instantly rushed to see who it was, but Beregond proved faster and opened the door slightly. In the next instant, the man had opened the door widely and welcomed Lieutenant Colonel Hughes with a broad smile.

"Hello, Hughes."

"Hey, Beregond," said Maes, looking at the man from head to toe. "I see that you've settled down; you look nice."

Beregond actually blushed as he nodded in embarrassment. "Ed and Al kind."

Maes smiled. "I don't doubt it." He quickly caught sight of the suit of armour. "Hey, Al!"

"Hello, Mr. Hughes!"

"Yo, Hughes," Ed said also, coming out to see what the commotion was. "What brings you here?"

"I just dropped by to see how are things with you and Beregond. And also to give him this." He showed Beregond a bag that he had been holding. "Can I come in?"

But he didn't have to ask; all three were more than happy to see him.

"I'm going to put another plate on the table," offered Al, and he quickly went into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Maes, Ed and Beregond settled on the couch, where Maes handed the bag to the man, something that the latter accepted gladly. As Beregond was checking out the gift, Ed faced Hughes.

"So, Maes, what news do you have about that Guyton guy?"

"Nothing much. He's being kept at Headquarters for the time being and soon we'll start the recreation proceedings. The bad thing is that there was a situation with the victims' relatives. As soon as they found out that the culprit was arrested, they gathered in front of the main building of Headquarters, wanting his head."

"Not surprised," said Ed grimly.

If Maes meant to say something, he never had the chance. At that moment, Beregond let out an exclamation of surprise, holding in his hands a couple of notebooks, a pencil and a large book; a book with illustrations that taught the reader how to write.

"Thanks, Hughes!" To claim that Beregond smiled as he said this, it would be an understatement. His whole face seemed to light up.

"You're welcome," answered Maes, smiling broadly. "I figured you might like them."

Just then, Al's voice sounded from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"

So, in a matter of moments, all four had sat down and were enjoying a warm meal. And though Al couldn't eat and only sat by the table for keeping the others company, the rest ate and drank to their hearts' content, and soon they were sitting in front of empty plates, congratulating Al for his cooking.

"You're getting almost as good as Gracia now," Maes said, grinning.

"By the way, any news from her and Elysia?" asked Ed.

"I phoned them yesterday. Gracia sends you her regards and Elysia wants to see you guys again soon."

Beregond looked at them, puzzled. "Phoned?"

"He means that he talked to them through the telephone; that small box-like thing I showed you yesterday," explained Al.

Maes's face lit up as he remembered something at that moment. "Speaking of showing, have I shown you guys the latest pictures of Elysia?" He instantly took out from his pocket a whole stack of photos. "I swear it, she's so cute in some of them!"

At this, Ed made a face that plainly said "Why didn't I keep my big mouth shut?", whereas Al was too polite to say anything. Beregond was the only one of the three who not only didn't mind Maes's constant talking, but he was also enjoying it. That was something that naturally caught both Ed and Al's attention.

"Either you are one of the most patient persons I've met, or you haven't been exposed to Maes's babbling for too long," commented Ed after Hughes had left, as the three of them sat on the couch. "So, which one of the two is it?"

Beregond laughed. "Have friend like Hughes."

Ed's eyes widened. "You're kidding! There's someone out there like Maes?"

The man nodded. "Has wife and son. Talks always about them."

"Shows you pictures, too?"

"No. No pictures."

Ed smirked. "That's not half as fun," he said sarcastically.

But Beregond wasn't sharing the humour anymore. He was eyeing both Ed and Al closely, something clearly in his mind.

"Want to ask. Where _your_ parents?"

At those words, Ed's face seemed to darken; all signs of mirth had vanished in a heartbeat. That made Beregond bit his lower lip.

"Sorry. Should not…"

"They're dead," Ed answered quickly. "_Both_ of them." He looked hard at Al; then let out a sigh. "Well, I had better head for bed; I have a long day tomorrow. Goodnight." Before anyone had the chance to answer him, Ed had gotten up and headed for his room, closing the door behind him.

Beregond was about to go after Ed, but Al stopped him.

"He'll be fine. He just doesn't like to talk about it."

"And you?" Beregond asked, cocking his head.

Al shrugged. "Mother died five years ago. We don't know where father is. He left us some time after I was born."

"Why?" Beregond was certainly surprised at the answer.

"I don't know. But Mum always said that he'll be back one day."

Beregond nodded his understanding. "How old you and Edward?"

"Brother is fifteen, I would be fourteen now."

The man didn't speak at once. He looked at Al in wonder for many long moments.

"Only each other," he said, more to himself than to Al. He faced the suit of armour again. "So strong love."

"What do you mean?" asked Al, his turn to feel puzzled.

Beregond thought hard to explain things the best he could. "You two alone. So look after the other."

Finally understanding, Al nodded.

"Edward sad when you and I go for food."

"What? Oh!" Al hadn't caught on at once. "Yeah, Brother can be overprotective at times. After our failed transmutation…" But it was clear that Beregond was getting too confused now, unable to comprehend what he was told. "Never mind."

Beregond blushed. "Sorry. I try, but…"

"No, you're doing fine!" Al assured the man. "We're just still at the beginning, that's all!" He clasped a hand on Beregond's shoulder. "I'll keep teaching you, and soon enough you'll even be able to read and write!"

"Good. Want that," said Beregond, smiling. That smile was quickly interrupted though, for Beregond suddenly yawned.

"I'm not surprised, it's late," said Al, laughing a bit. He arose and went to turn off the lights. "Goodnight, Beregond."

"Goodnight, Alphonse," replied the man, settling on the couch and closing his eyes.

There was a small pause.

"Beregond?"

"Hm?" Beregond opened an eye in curiosity.

"Do you have a family?"

The answer didn't come at once. And when it did, it was a saddened one.

"No."

And both man and armour left it at that.


	9. Alchemy

Mustang was in his office, signing some paperwork Hawkeye had given him, when there was a sharp knock on the door.

"Enter!"

The command had hardly escaped the Colonel's lips, when Edward Elric came in, as always followed by his brother.

"Ah, Fullmetal," Roy said, putting down his pen. "That's certainly a surprise; I was expecting you later this day."

"Well, it couldn't be helped," Ed said. "Beregond was too restless today and he wanted to get out of the house as soon as possible."

"You mean Mr. Beregond's here?" asked Roy, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Just look outside the window."

Roy did just that and, as he pulled aside the curtain, he caught sight of Fuery and Falman talking with a tall man, neatly dressed and his dark hair tied back in a small ponytail.

"What do you know! He looks almost nothing like that frightened person I met some time ago," commented Roy with a small smile. "I have to admit that it was good for him to stay with you two." Roy sat down again and knitted his fingers. "How long has it been since he came to your home? Two weeks?"

Ed nodded. "Al's done a good job in teaching him. He should get the most credit."

Al bowed his head in an embarrassed manner. "He just knows how to work hard, Sir," he said humbly. "He's done nothing but study these last two weeks."

"This sounds quite promising. I'm sure Maes will be glad to hear it."

"When is Guyton's trial?" asked Ed.

Roy thought about it for a moment. "Today's the 23rd… I'd say in a couple of weeks' time. But that case will keep him busy for some time yet. Right now, he's been doing his best to keep Mr. Beregond out of the investigation procedures."

The brothers were certainly surprised at this piece of news.

"But, Colonel, wasn't Beregond found innocent from those murders?" asked Al.

"Yes."

"So what's the problem now?" asked Ed indignantly. "Did he walk on the wrong side of the road or something?"

"No," answered Roy. He looked hard at Ed. "You're becoming forgetful, Fullmetal. Surely you must remember me telling you of the military trying to find answers at all costs."

"Yeah, but I don't see what's your point."

Roy smirked. "Connors wasn't exactly pleased when Mr. Beregond, the very man _he_ had arrested, got acquitted. So now he's been trying to implicate him again – this time with the accusation of accessory to murder."

"But that's terrible!" exclaimed Al with a gasp.

"How do you know of this, Colonel?" asked Ed, keeping his own emotions in check.

"Havoc gave me a pretty good lead. Fawcette approached him a couple of days ago and he made some pretty suspicious questions, such as on which street did he hit Mr. Beregond with his car, what time was it, at which direction was he running…"

"That son of a…!" Ed stopped himself in time. "He wants to see if Beregond was close enough to the crime scene of the last murder!"

"And not only that, but Maes warned me that he's been searching on the rest of the case files as well," said Roy.

"But, sir, Beregond didn't even speak our language when he was found. How could he be involved in something like this?" asked Al.

"That will hardly make a difference, Alphonse. Considering that no one had seen or heard of Mr. Beregond before Havoc found him, no one can tell us of his character."

"_We've_ been with him all this time and he's done nothing wrong!" Al immediately answered. "He's a good man and honest!"

"Really, Al? Can you prove to me that this is Mr. Beregond's true personality and not just what he wants us to see?"

"_You_ say that?" Ed said quietly. "You saw the man for yourself; you _talked_ to him."

"And can you assure me, Fullmental, that a man, probably cold-blooded enough to help a murderer kill six women, can't possibly be a damn good actor?"

"Sir!" Al was now horrified.

"That's crap and you know it," said Ed, his voice low and yet his anger evident. "If that were true, he would have attacked us in our sleep, when our vigilance was low enough."

"_I_ know it," said Roy seriously. "But that crap, as you eloquently put it, is what Connors will probably say to get his point across, don't you agree? And your argument's not going to convince anyone who's willing enough to listen to the Brigadier General."

The brothers fell silent, seeing the Colonel's point.

"So what happens now?" Ed asked.

"For the time being we've got nothing to be afraid of. Hughes is making sure of that," Roy assured them both. "Nevertheless, that shouldn't distract you from your own mission, Fullmetal. Do you have anything new to report today?"

"I'm afraid not much," answered Ed with a sigh. "I've checked the image of a tree and seven stars from his armour to see in which country or city it could belong, but I had no luck. I also talked with a linguist, like you told me to, and he conversed with Beregond for two hours or so. His conclusions were," he took out a small notebook and started reading, "'The sounds the particular subject lets out are certainly non-instinctive, with complex grammar and syntax to express ideas, feelings and desires. It's certainly a language, though it isn't a language I know of.'" Ed closed the notebook.

Roy huffed and ran his hands through his hair. "That's hardly useful, Fullmetal. The sooner we know about him, the better. Then we'll know what we're dealing with."

"Yes, I know that," said Ed, shaking his head dejectedly.

Roy nodded a bit in a tired manner. "Right. That will be all then. Have a good day." And he resumed with his paperwork, showing clearly in this way that the conversation had come to an end. Not needing to be told twice, Ed and Al took their leave.

Still, Al seemed troubled by something.

"Brother, why didn't you tell the Colonel about that friend Beregond mentioned?" he asked as soon as they were out of the office and anyone's hearing.

Ed waved his hand dismissively.

"Though the name 'Meneldor' is just as… unique as the name 'Beregond', it's still just a name. We've got no last name, no address, and the physical description Beregond gave us belongs to more than half the population of the city – if he lives in these parts. Even if I mentioned anything to Mustang, it would hardly make a difference." He sighed. "I don't know, Al. I have this nasty feeling inside that we're just in a wild goose chase. If we're to really find out anything, Beregond himself needs to tell us."

Al didn't say anything, something that surprised Ed.

"What?"

"I was just thinking of a conversation I had with Beregond, when he asked us about Mum and Dad."

Ed frowned slightly. "And?"

"Well, I asked him if he had a family and he answered no. But, Ed, didn't you notice how comfortable he's with Alice? And whenever Lieutenant Colonel Hughes showed him a picture of Elysia, Beregond would just keep looking at it, a sad smile on his face. And once, when you had a nightmare in the hospital…"

"Wait, wait," Ed interrupted, wincing. "I had a nightmare?"

Al nodded. "Anyway, I couldn't calm you down, but then Beregond came and he did, whispering to you to make the nightmare go away." Al faced his brother. "I know I might sound crazy; but, Brother, as he sat by your side… he looked like Mum in a way."

"Geeze, Al… Not that again." And yet, before he could help it, Ed's mind flashed back to that day at the hospital, when he fell asleep on a chair and found himself on the bed the very next day. He had wondered what might have happened, but he certainly didn't expect anything like this. Was that why he had woken up so comfortable and safe?

"So," he said then slowly, "what you're saying is that, though Beregond might not have a family now, he must have _had_ one?"

Al nodded again. "And remember when you noticed he had been crying? Doesn't it make sense he could have been crying about a family he had lost?"

Ed pondered on it for a few moments. "And the loss of a family is a good enough reason for a mental trauma," he said thoughtfully. He looked up at his brother. "I think you're right, Al. We ought to look into that direction. I bet the newspaper archives might be able to tell us a thing or two."

Just then, Falman showed up, holding a rather large book in his hands.

"Hey, Ed. Hi, Alphonse. Are you guys done with the report to the Colonel?"

"Just now," answered Ed. "What's with the book?"

"This?" Falman held it up so that he could present the title: History Of The Military. "We've been talking with Beregond and he showed interest in it when I mentioned it to him; so I figured I might as well lend it to him."

"Where's Beregond then?" asked Al, concerned.

Falman smiled a bit. "Don't worry, Fuery is with him. They've been checking out the military horses. I can take you to them."

The brothers agreed, of course. However, when they all arrived at the stables, they were surprised to discover that Fuery was alone, mumbling something that could only be translated as: "I don't get it."

"Fuery, what happened? Where's Beregond?" Falman asked, his eyes widening.

Before Fuery had the chance to answer, however, Beregond's voice sounded cheerfully behind them.

"Right here! Sorry, did I keep you?"

Everyone turned to see Beregond coming towards their direction, a horse following close behind him. Fuery looked as though his jaw was going to drop.

"Not at all," said Ed. "Are you ready to go?"

Beregond frowned. "I was hoping I would see Havoc."

"Well, you'll probably get lucky next time. It's getting quite late, and we've got have lots of things to do yet," Ed reminded him.

Beregond nodded his acknowledgement; then turned to Falman and Fuery. "Thank you both kindly for the company. Hopefully, I'll see you next time."

"You're welcome," said Falman, smiling a bit. He handed Beregond the book. "Take good care of it, okay?"

"I will, I promise." Beregond then smiled at Fuery. "Thank you for showing me the horses, Fuery. This one's a real beauty." He patted the horse's neck, an affection that was rewarded with a small nuzzling, and he whispered something near its ear. "Goodbye!" And he quickly followed Ed and Al.

He never saw Falman eyeing Fuery, who was in his turn perplexed about something.

"What? You didn't expect someone to like horses as much as you do?" asked Falman.

"I-It's not that," Fuery finally answered, straightening his glasses.

"Then what?"

Fuery looked around a bit, making sure in this way that no one besides Falman would listen; then leant closely.

"Beregond opened the stable door before I could stop him, and I thought the horse would bolt. Like it's in its nature to do when there's a stranger near it, right?"

"Yes?"

"Well, this one not only didn't run off, but it acted all friendly to Beregond; it was even playful!"

"Maybe Beregond had something for it to eat?" figured Falman logically.

Fuery shook his head at once. "And there's something else, too."

Falman looked at Fuery curiously, waiting for the revelation.

"The horse understands when he speaks to it. It even obeys him."

"Come off it!" Falman exclaimed with a burst of laughter.

"I'm serious!" Fuery said. "He'd say something in that gibberish Havoc told us about and the horse would just do it! Just watch!" He stood in front of the horse and thought hard to remember some of the words he heard. "Aphado nín!" (Follow me).

The horse moved its ears forward, a sign that it heard Fuery; but that was it. That certainly made Falman laugh even harder.

"It seems your horse-talk isn't all that well-practised."

Fuery turned red with embarrassment and frustration. "Well, I'm not sure what I asked it to do," he said in a hurt manner.

"There, there," replied Falman, patting Fuery on the shoulder encouragingly. "Who knows, you probably told it to stay there and look at you blankly!" He did his best not to laugh again. "Now let's go, there's a little thing called work that's waiting for us in the office." And with that, he went at the main building of the Headquarters.

Fuery sighed, seeing that it was useless; then started walking to the building, too.

He didn't notice the horse following him obediently until he was at the doors.

_______________

Ed was organising some of the files he had been working on, when he was surprised to hear a knock at the door of his room.

"Al?"

"No," said Beregond, opening slightly the door and daring a peek inside. "Am I bothering?"

"No, not at all," Ed replied, smiling a bit. "Where's Al?"

"He went to buy some food," Beregond answered, walking in apprehensively; he had never been inside Ed's room before. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm putting some order in this mess," said Ed, huffing as he put a big stack of books on the top shelf of his library.

Beregond looked around, his expression clearly saying that he agreed with Edward; the place _was_ a mess. "Want some help?"

Ed didn't answer for several moments, not expecting that question. "No, everything's under control," he finally said. "You can read the book Falman gave you, if you like."

"I've finished it." Beregond shuffled his legs embarrassingly.

Ed faced the man, eyes widened. "That book must've been two thousand pages long!"

"Two thousand and seventy-three."

"And you read it in four days?!" Ed could hardly believe it.

"I liked it," was all Beregond said, blushing.

"And the other books that you got from the library?"

"I've read them."

Before Ed could help himself, he laughed heartily.

"Are you trying to break a record or something?"

Beregond just blinked, not getting the tease.

"Never mind," Ed said, waving his hand dismissively. "Well, you could help then. And while at it, you can tell me what were the books you read about, deal?"

Beregond didn't need to be told twice. Smiling brilliantly that he could be of some assistance, he picked up some books and started working. And as he helped out, he told of everything that he could remember from all the books he had read so far – which were quite a lot. Ed didn't mind all that much though. He was too concentrated on his own work, so he simply let out an exclamation of acknowledgement every once in a while, just to show that he was paying attention.

That is, until he realised Beregond had stopped talking.

"Beregond?"

No answer came, something that worried Edward. He turned around, and what he saw sent a chill to his heart.

Beregond was still in the room, standing in the centre of it as though frozen, his hands holding a book like he was holding a basket full of poisonous snakes. But it wasn't that that concerned Edward the most. It was the look on Beregond's face as the man still looked at the pages of that book.

It was one of absolute horror.

"Beregond, what is it?" Ed approached the man cautiously, not knowing what to make of this reaction, and peeked at the page to see what he was looking at.

"A transmutation circle? Is that what scared you?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

Indeed, in the book was the image of an array, a rather simple one at that.

"Um ringorn," (Circle of Evil) Beregond breathed out.

"What?"

Beregond looked at Edward, always horrified. "Is that what you read?"

Edward nodded. "I'm an alchemist." He clasped a hand on Beregond's arm. "Why are you afraid?"

But Beregond instantly jumped back, dropping the book in the process. "Why are you reading this?"

Edward sighed. "I told you; I'm an alchemist. It's my job to read this. In this way, I can understand how the world works."

Beregond didn't say anything this time, but Edward realised that he had to explain things further.

"This world works through the laws of Alchemy. Somebody who understands the laws of Alchemy is an alchemist, like me. And an alchemist uses these laws for the benefit of the people; wherever there is wrong to fix it – 'Be thou for the people.' But, in order to do that, he has to keep studying Alchemy, discover new options and potential. The more he knows, the more he can help. Do you understand now?"

"So," Beregond said slowly, "you are a _protector_ of the people?"

"Yes," answered Ed reassuringly. "Al, too."

"And the soldiers? Shouldn't _they_ protect the people?"

Ed shrugged. "They do, but not all of them know Alchemy. Havoc and Hughes, for example, aren't alchemists; but Mustang is."

"The Colonel?"

"Yeah. He uses fire."

Beregond's eyes widened. "How?"

"He snaps his fingers, and in this way he creates a spark. Then he makes the spark as big a flame as he wants to. That's his specialty, and that's why people call him the Flame Alchemist."

Beregond fell on his knees, yet all feelings of horror had vanished. Now he was clearly trying to process what he was told, though that proved difficult since everything seemed too incredible.

"_Sui Istar_." (Like an Istar)

"Come again?" asked Ed, his turn to feel puzzled.

Beregond just raised his hand. "Please. I need to think." And with that, he sat cross-legged, closed his eyes and breathed slowly, not another word escaping his lips. In fact, he had become so quiet that Ed was starting to think that the man had fallen asleep. That is, until Beregond, seemingly quite calmed down now, opened his eyes again and locked his gaze on Ed.

"Tell me. Is this Alchemy used only for good?"

"It should be," answered Edward cautiously. "But it's not always. Some people try to gain something for their own ends, and some people are just… too proud." His eyes drifted on his automail before he could help it. "You've never asked me how I got this." His metal fingers twitched a bit. "Or how Al became a suit of armour."

"I knew some kind of misfortune must have been behind it, and I feared to ask. I upset you enough when I asked about your parents," Beregond said.

Ed closed his eyes in a pained manner. "Did Al tell you anything about that?"

"He said that your father left you when you were toddlers." A small hesitant pause. "And that your mother died when you were just small children."

Ed didn't speak. He only clenched his hands into fists.

"So there's a connection, isn't there?" Beregond's voice was soft now, and even sad.

That undid Ed. He also sat down cross-legged, as though the weight of the burden he carried finally proved too much for him, facing in this way the man.

"Yeah, there is."

Beregond instantly placed a hand over Ed's. "You don't have to speak of it."

"I know." Grim determination was reflected within the amber-coloured eyes. "But I want to."

__________________

Though Ed talked about a subject that awoke in him too many pain-filled memories, he didn't leave out anything. Not even how their mother took pride in their interest in Alchemy, since it reminded her of their father; not even his decision to bring her back at all costs after her death; nor how he and his brother studied Alchemy for more than a year for that single purpose; nor of their failure and its consequences. Beregond listened on patiently, without saying a word, and the only thing he did as soon as Edward had finished his narrative was take the young one's metal hand in his own flesh one and caress the palm slightly, as though he could take some of the pain in that way.

Ed sighed and gently pulled his automail hand away. "You don't have to feel sorry for me."

"I don't feel sorry for you."

Ed locked his gaze on Beregond, not expecting that answer.

"I feel sorry for the fact that you failed after the high price you paid." Beregond stood up. "After all, you were only trying to fix a wrong that was done to you."

Ed's eyes widened and he stood up too.

"Trouble is," Beregond continued, "you two tried to correct someone who has a better say on things." His eyes darkened a bit. "That's always the one step where we fall."

Ed didn't speak for a few moments, the words striking a cord within him.

"Have you ever been…" For the first time in a while he found himself hesitating. "… _faced_ with that dilemma?"

Beregond looked straight into Ed's eyes before answering.

"I've heard of people who have; I've _witnessed_ people who have; and _I've_ been subjected to it. All of us made the wrong choice."

________________

"That's all he said?" asked Roy, looking at Edward from behind his desk.

"Yeah."

The Colonel frowned. "I don't understand it. He sounded as though he was familiar with the transmutation circles. Yet he doesn't know a thing about Alchemy?"

"He knew one thing," Ed corrected. "He knew how to be afraid of it."

"The only ones that condemn Alchemy are the Ishbalans though," said Roy thoughtfully.

"He's not Ishbalan," Ed objected.

"I didn't say he is – he looks nothing like one!" argued Roy. He pondered on matters a bit. "One could say that he might have been raised with Ishbalan beliefs, but that theory hits several snags. Ishbalans don't accept outsiders so easily. And I bet he doesn't even know what Ishbal is, right?"

Ed nodded. "I had to show it to him on a map."

"Thought so." Roy sighed. "We're missing something; something important. The question is: what?"

"I don't know," answered Ed. "And there's something else that's been bothering me."

Roy didn't speak, waiting for his subordinate to continue.

"He wants to learn Alchemy. He said he wants to understand how this world works, too."

Roy answered with a shake of the head. "He's too old."

"That's not all that much of a problem," said Ed. "These past weeks, I've seen someone who couldn't speak or understand a word of our language not only become acquainted with it, but mastering it well enough to communicate, make friends, read and write. He was afraid of things that you and I've been taking for granted all these years, and now he knows what to do with them. You yourself noted how Beregond's changed just a week ago. He came a long way to be what he's now, Colonel, when others would've just despaired and quit. If Beregond can afford the time and energy to achieve so much, there's a good chance he can grasp Alchemy, too. No, it's not the age that concerns me. It's got to do with something Al told me."

"What?"

"Al thinks that Beregond must have had a family once. And then something must have happened and he lost it."

"That could coincide with the theory that Mr. Beregond suffers from mental trauma," said Roy.

"That's what I said. But what if Alchemy had something to do with that loss? That could explain both his very vague familiarity with it and his fear of it."

"Perhaps. But that doesn't explain why he wishes to learn it. Wouldn't his instinct try to make him steer clear from it? Trigger too many bad memories?"

"That's what bothers me," said Ed. "And what if he wants to learn it so to try something dangerous?"

"Like a human transmutation?" said Roy, raising an eyebrow as he looked hard at the young alchemist. "All the more reason that you should teach him."

Ed's eyes widened at this. "Seriously?"

"Like you said, Fullmetal," Roy continued on, "Mr. Beregond takes no pains in learning what he wants. Who's to say that, if you refuse to teach him, he won't attempt to learn Alchemy by himself? That could make him unpredictable, even a hazard. But if you teach him, you'll be able to keep a better eye on him and make sure that he doesn't do anything… compromising."

"Point taken," answered Ed, sighing. "I just hope nothing bad comes out of it."

"Nobody ever hopes differently, Fullmetal," Roy said grimly. "But life has its risks."

Ed didn't say anything this time. He simply nodded and walked out, where Al was waiting for him to tell him how things stand.

______________________

September 6th

_Humankind cannot gain anything, unless it can give something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. That is Alchemy's first law of Equivalent Exchange._

_That was how my first lesson in Alchemy started._

_Frankly, I had expected things to be difficult and, for a while, I had regretted my decision to ask the brothers to teach me and hoped that they would refuse. Certainly the fact that I was told that Alchemy is a delicate science which leaves no room for mistakes did not help matters much either. So I was quite nervous when I was told that they would, in fact, teach me. That must have been evident, however, for neither Edward nor Alphonse forced anything on me. They settled with telling me first the principles of Alchemy and showed a couple of transmutation reactions so I could understand better what I am to learn. Alphonse broke the radio and restored it, whereas Edward warmed the water inside a bowl until it boiled, then froze it. _

_I could not decide what I should feel as I watched them perform feats that only a Wizard could do: awed or frightened. In the end I decided a little bit of both, though Edward tried to assure me that I should not feel either; that they were as human as I was and, in time, I would be able to perform Alchemy, too._

_I just smiled and refrained myself from saying that I had my doubts._

_Yet was it only awe and fright that I felt? Because, for an instant, as I watched on, I could have sworn that I felt like my heart jolted with a pang of familiarity. I _knew_ the transmutation circle Alphonse was meant to use to fix the radio; my fingers twitched in eagerness as I was ready to draw it myself if Alphonse had taken one moment longer to do so. And I _knew_ that Edward clapped his hands as another means to perform Alchemy, replacing the standard drawn circle. _

_The question is: how can I have the feeling that I know something, when I am certain, beyond any doubt, that I have never seen anything like it? I must admit that I have heard of things in my world that, the more I think about them, the more convinced I become that they could be labelled with the term Alchemy. Sauron had to pour a part of himself in the One Ring in order to rule all the other Rings of Power. Fëanor would not part with the Silmarils so that their light could save the trees of Valinor. And there was that story of the Pukel-man who, in order to make a guarding statue for his master, he placed a part of himself in it. _

_Equivalence._

_And then there's the race of Men, who listened to Sauron and tried to defeat death; and death came to them unnaturally. Like it almost happened with Edward and Alphonse._

_Some things _cannot_ be traded. Was it not something like that that I said to Dûrinas?_

_Still, finding similarities between incidents in this world and mine and actually feeling that Alchemy is part of a knowledge within me, elusive yet tangible once reminded, is a different matter entirely._

_I wish I knew how I could apply reason to this. Yet I know I cannot, at least for the present. My only hope is that, as I learn more, I might finally find the answers I seek._

_Now, however, I have to consider something just as important; and I have put it off for far too long._


	10. A Living

Breda walked up to Havoc, who was checking out some of the paperwork on his desk while sipping some tea.

"Havoc, ready to go? The trial starts in an hour."

"Yeah, don't worry. Just making sure the papers were done properly before we make any copies of them. Are the military police outside?"

"They're already waiting."

"Were they notified that this Guyton guy is dangerous?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then we're all set." But, before Havoc had risen and put on his overcoat, the phone rang. Sighing at this last minute inconvenience, he picked up the receiver. "Havoc."

"Sir, this is Jackson from Military Police at the gates. There's a civilian here who wishes to enter Headquarters, claiming that he knows you."

Havoc frowned. "Did he give you a name?"

"A Mr. Beregond, sir," answered the guard.

That certainly surprised Havoc. "Alone?"

"Yes, Sir."

That surprised Havoc even further. _Something must be wrong._ "Okay, you can let him through," he said, hoping that Jackson wouldn't remember that little technicality that could…

"Sir, you realise that someone from State Military, preferably you, has to come down here and escort him for as long as he's within the Headquarters' premises?"

_Damn, he remembered._

"Yeah, I do. I'll see if I can send somebody in my place."

"Very well, sir."

Havoc nodded absentmindedly and hanged up.

"What was that about?" asked Breda.

"Beregond is here."

"You mean the foreign guy?"

"Yeah. And obviously he wants to talk to me." Jean sighed. "He really couldn't have picked any worse time." Suddenly, an idea was formed in his mind. "Is Hawkeye here?"

"I think so," answered Breda. "Why?"

"She'll have to do a big favour for me." And with that, Havoc grabbed his overcoat and rushed out.

__________________

Beregond paced up and down as he still waited to see if he would finally be able to talk to Havoc. He couldn't understand why things were taking so long. Then again, he wasn't acquainted with the military procedures of this world.

"Mr. Beregond?"

He quickly turned, not expecting to hear a woman's voice in this place, calling him. At the next moment he felt like his blood ran cold in his veins; his heart stopped beating; and his mind went blank.

"I'm sorry to have startled you," the woman said kindly, yet with a strength that could only belong to a soldier. "I'm Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Lieutenant Havoc has asked me to accompany you inside Headquarters, since he has some pressing matters at present and he can't see you just yet."

_Riza Hawkeye?_ Beregond kicked himself mentally to snap out of his stunned state of mind. "Thank you," he said, hoping that his voice didn't sound as weak as he felt it did. "And I'm sorry for any inconvenience I might have caused. I could come some other time."

Riza smiled. "To come here alone must mean the matter is important. Do the Elric Brothers know you're here?"

Beregond blinked in confusion.

"I've heard of your case, sir," Riza explained.

"Oh." Beregond locked his gaze on her brown eyes, keeping his hands stubbornly on his sides and clenched into fists. He smiled, too, doing his best to keep his emotions in check. "I've left them a note. They know where to find me."

"Then there's no point in staying here," Riza noted. "Follow me, please."

As she showed him the way, Beregond followed obediently yet hesitantly. His gaze locked on the lieutenant's form and all he could do was keep repeating to himself that this was impossible.

He was walking with _her_.

He was walking with his _wife._

He was walking with his _wife_, who had _died_.

He bit his lower lip, making sure he wouldn't be noticed.

This must be a dream. It _had_ to be.

On the other hand, those eyes; that hair (Why did it have to be tied back in such an unflattering manner?); that beloved face and graceful form; her voice; but, above all, that smile - Valar! That smile that made his heart beat faster with joy as he felt like the most blessed of men, for it was meant only for him… Those were all the same.

Yet they didn't belong to Almiel anymore.

_What kind of cruel jest is this? _

And that wasn't the worst thing. For though his mind tried to reason with him to keep himself objective, his soul was assaulted with feelings and memories that he had buried so long ago that, to be confronted with them again simultaneously, so suddenly, and with such force, was actually _hurting _and _nauseating_ him. Before he could help it, his legs buckled, and he would have certainly fallen if a pair of hands didn't hold him at the last moment.

"Mr. Beregond, are you all right?" Riza asked, concerned. "You're as pale as a sheet!"

"I-I'm fine." Could he lie more pitifully? Beregond doubted it. "I just… need to sit somewhere."

Riza reacted at once. She led Beregond underneath a tree nearby, making sure that he rested comfortably against its trunk and he was in the shade, and told him to stay there till she fetched some water. Beregond tried to tell her not to go, but it was of no use. She was gone in seconds. All the man could do was watch her go, a bitter smile forming on his lips.

_You are so much like her. Even in kindness._

Sighing, he closed his eyes and used all his will power to shun such wrong feelings that got the better of him. He only lifted his head when Riza returned with a glass of water and offered it to him.

"Thank you." He shook his head. "And I'm sorry. I've already put you into too much trouble."

Riza smiled again kindly (causing another pang in the man's heart). "No trouble. Are you feeling any better, Mr. Beregond?"

"Please, just Beregond will suffice; that's my name," Beregond said, trying to keep himself from cringing. He didn't like being called mister, and he certainly didn't want Riza to call him like that. "And yes, I'm much better."

"Very well… Beregond. Shall we proceed to the main building? I've told Lieutenant Havoc that he would meet us there when he finishes with his assignment."

"Okay." Riza offered her hand, but Beregond gently refused and stood on his own. "By the way," he said, locking his gaze at her curiously, "You never asked me what I want of him."

Riza raised an eyebrow. "Your business is with him, so it's not in my place to ask." She looked at him thoughtfully. "Unless, of course, you wish to tell me."

"Well," Beregond pondered on it for a bit, "Yes, I do." He couldn't help it. Trusting Riza came so naturally because of her resemblance to Almiel that he felt he could tell her everything.

"Then, I'd very much like to hear about it," said Riza, her smile broadening slightly. "Let's go."

_________________

Riza poured some tea on Beregond's cup and sat down on the chair behind her desk again, thoughtful.

"Beregond, you realise, of course, that what you have in mind isn't as easy as you might believe," she said.

"I do," the man replied, tracing absentmindedly the rim of his cup with his fingers. "But I don't wish to be a burden to Edward and Alphonse anymore."

Riza nodded her understanding. "Still, I feel I should ask why you wish to become a soldier. There are several jobs from which you can choose, even with the qualifications you have now."

"Yet it's the only one that I can be really good at."

"How can you be so certain?" she asked in genuine curiosity.

"I've been one before."

Riza's eyes widened slightly at the answer. "Really? Where did you serve?" she asked.

Seeing that he was now treading on dangerous ground, Beregond thought fast. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to remember that part yet." True, he hated lying; but he still preferred _that_ to be considered a lunatic if he said anything about Gondor or Minas Tirith.

Riza simply nodded again, accepting the answer. After all, Havoc had told her of the possibility that Beregond was suffering from memory loss. "In this case, things might prove easier for you. You won't have to take all the exams and, if you do well, you might be able to start your military career at a higher rank than the standard one."

"Exams?" Beregond didn't really understand.

Riza opened her mouth to elaborate further, but she never had the chance. Commotion was heard outside at that moment, startling both her and Beregond. Her hand resting instinctively on her gun, Riza walked at the door and looked outside, catching sight of Fuery. He was worried, that much was clear.

"Fuery, what's going on?"

"Guyton's escaped and he's somewhere in the building," Fuery answered, breathing heavily.

"How did that happen?" Riza asked, astonished.

"I don't know exactly. All I can say is that everyone's been notified to be on the lookout for him and watch their backs. He's injured the military police who was guarding him and he's now armed."

Riza nodded. "I'm coming with you; I have to find the Colonel." She turned to Beregond, who watched on in an attempt to grasp what was happening. "Beregond, lock the door behind me and stay here. Don't open to anyone who doesn't identify himself as someone you know. Is that understood?"

Deciding that it was best to do what Riza asked of him – even though it was against his character to let a woman face danger, no matter how good a fighter she might be – Beregond nodded his understanding. After all, whether he liked it or not, he _was_ a civilian and he _wasn't_ supposed to interfere with affairs of the military.

"Good." She checked both her guns to make sure they were loaded, and she quickly followed Fuery. The moment she was out, Beregond closed the door and was about to lock it when, suddenly, the loud sound of glass breaking made him turn around. To his dismay, he saw a man regaining his footing after crashing through the window and threateningly pointing his gun at him, the nasty scratches on his face and arms hardly deterring him.

"Sorry for dropping in, mate," he said mockingly, lunging at Beregond and grabbing him from behind in a cat-like manner, still keeping him at gunpoint. "But look at it from the bright side; you've just become my ticket out of here."

Beregond clenched his jaw. He had already been shot once, and he certainly didn't wish to be shot again. So he didn't put up any fight, accepting his defeat – _for the present. _

Guyton grinned. "So you've got brains. Good!" He pressed his gun harder on Beregond's temple. "Now move."

____________________

Ed and Al were getting from one surprise to another today. When Al entered the kitchen, he found a note signed by Beregond, saying that he had gone to see Havoc. Ed, in his turn, groaned his indignation at this, as he realised that Beregond proved too much of a challenge to keep an eye on. And, because he didn't want Roy to realise it as well, he quickly dressed and went with Al to Headquarters.

That's how they came to their next surprise; for they certainly didn't expect the soldiers in such a hyperactive state, guns in hand, and Roy barking orders at everyone.

"What's going on?" Ed asked the person closest to him, who turned out to be Hughes.

"Guyton escaped," Maes said. Ed was surprised – yet again – to see that the Lieutenant Colonel was _angry._ "I don't know how he got it, but he used a small piece of wire to pick his handcuffs. Then it was only a matter of asking to go to the bathroom and, after seeing his chance, he surprised the men, incapacitated them and got out through the window."

"Maes!" Roy's voice sounded then. If the Colonel was surprised to see Edward and Alphonse there, he didn't show it, for his next words were: "Go with Fullmetal and check the offices on the upper floor. He can't go from ledge to ledge forever!"

Just then, Havoc appeared, out of breath; he had clearly been running.

"Sir," he said to Roy, saluting slightly. "Guyton's moved away from the ledges."

"Where's he then?" asked Mustang.

Havoc hesitated for a moment. "He broke into Lieutenant Hawkeye's office, Sir."

If anyone looked at the Colonel closely now, he'd notice a slight clenching of his jaw. "Do you know if anyone was in there at the time?" he asked in an even-tempered manner.

"No, Sir."

Everyone now looked at Roy, waiting to see what his next command would be. As for Roy, he simply turned to Maes.

"Hughes, I'm going with Fullmetal and Havoc through corridor 2A. You take Breda and Falman through corridor 2C."

"You're thinking of surrounding him," noted Maes.

"Yes. We have to operate on the assumption that Hawkeye's a hostage," Roy said; then gave out his command. "Let's move!"

Everyone obeyed, yet Havoc felt he had to say something else, too. "Sir?"

"Not now, Havoc," was all that Roy said as he still walked.

"Sir, it can't wait." In the end, Havoc decided to just say it. "If Lieutenant Hawkeye was in the room, there's a good chance Beregond was with her."

Ed and Al froze. "What?!"

Roy stopped as well, but he didn't say anything. He just remained still for a moment; then nodded slightly. "Understood. Now, let's proceed."

They carried on, Roy slowly putting on his spark gloves; Ed, prepared to clap his hands and fight; Al, clenching his hands into fists; and Jean, toting his gun. As they turned and got closer to Hawkeye's office, they came across Fuery and Hawkeye herself. Surprisingly – or, perhaps, not so surprisingly – neither of them was moving, and they held their guns tightly, ready to fire. And to Ed and Al's concern, Beregond wasn't in sight.

"Fuery, Hawkeye, step back," Roy commanded calmly.

Fuery and Hawkeye did just that, their steps slow and careful; they still aimed their guns at whatever it was in the room. As they retreated, Guyton came out of the door, holding Beregond in a headlock and at gunpoint.

"Good doggies. Just do what your master says and all will be well," said Guyton contemptuously. "Otherwise, _he_," he tightened his grip on Beregond, "gets it."

"Let him go!" Al shouted, getting ready to lunge. "Now!"

"Al, no!" cried Ed, grabbing his brother's arm to stop him.

"Fullmetal, if you can't control your brother, I suggest you get him out of here!" said Roy edgily.

Al turned to his brother. "Ed, we can't…" The plea was soft.

"I know," Edward said. "But we can't risk it either. I'm sorry."

Alphonse bowed his head mournfully, but he didn't protest any further.

At that moment, Maes and his team appeared, their own guns drawn. Roy allowed himself a small smile.

"Mr. Guyton, it's in your best interest if you surrender now. You're completely surrounded, with no chance of escape."

"Ah, but I don't plan to escape… Colonel, isn't it?" Guyton said, looking at Mustang's rank. "I plan on _walking_ out of here. After all, you don't want this poor bastard's blood on your conscience, or your _record_, do you?"

"You underestimate a soldier's aim, Mr. Guyton."

"And you, Colonel, underestimate the human body. Even if I'm shot on the head, it takes almost thirty seconds for the brain to die. Trust me, it's enough time for a finger to twitch and pull the trigger."

Mustang bit his lower lip and lowered his hand from the snapping position it was in.

"Colonel…?" Ed started. Was he really going to give up so easily? This was unlike the Flame Alchemist!

It was then that he noticed it. Fuery was looking at Roy; then directing his eyes at Beregond.

_What's he doing? _He looked at Beregond's direction, too, and saw that the man was tapping his thigh as his hand rested against it. Could the man be nervous? He locked his gaze on Beregond's face. The expression reflected there was calm, even – dared he say it? – _confident._

_Wait a minute_… If Ed didn't know any better, he'd say that there was a pattern in that tapping. His gaze drifted on Hughes, who apparently had noticed it too and was now nodding at Ed.

"Name your demands, Guyton," Roy said then, as if all of a sudden.

"No! You can't do that!" Al cried to Mustang. "He might still kill Beregond anyway!"

"Will somebody make him shut up?" shouted Guyton, aiming his gun at Al this time. It was only for a brief moment, but apparently it was all the time Beregond needed. In an instant, both his hands had reached for the hand Guyton used to hold his gun. One violent twist later and the gun fell harmlessly on the floor, whereas the moment he felt Guyton tightening his grip on his neck, Beregond snapped his head back to manage a forceful hit on the man's jaw. Before Guyton had time to react, Beregond had torn himself free, jumping at a safe distance before bringing himself into a defensive position, ready to fight again if necessary.

It seemed that the precaution wasn't needed after all. The minute Guyton was down, he was handcuffed and escorted away by Breda and Falman. Sighing and feeling the tension of battle fleeing his system (and a painful lump forming on his head), Beregond rested his back against the wall for support.

"Beregond! Are you okay?" Al's hand gripped Beregond's, squeezing it in a worried manner.

"Yes, I'm all right, Alphonse," Beregond answered with a slight smile, squeezing the armour's hand back reassuringly. "Don't worry."

"That was some good thinking, Beregond!" Fuery said then, patting the man on the shoulder. "I didn't know you could use Morse code!"

"Thank Falman for giving me that book," Beregond said, his smile becoming a grin.

"So there _was_ a pattern!" exclaimed Ed. "Hughes tried to tell me, but I couldn't understand what you were saying."

"He said: 'Make him point the gun elsewhere; I'll do the rest.'" Roy came up to the small group that had by now gathered around Beregond and nodded to the man. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Beregond."

Beregond nodded back, feeling a bit embarrassed to get thanks from the Colonel. "You're welcome, Sir."

"You mean… you never meant to agree to the terms, Colonel?" asked Al, dumbfounded.

"Of course not, Alphonse," answered Mustang. "I just had to create a slight commotion to make Guyton lose his nerve, and _you_ were emotionally qualified for it. I apologise for my small deceit."

"Well, it couldn't be helped, I guess," said the suit of armour, rather discomfited perhaps that he allowed himself to be taken in so easily. Ed seemed ready to defend his brother, when, oddly enough, Beregond whispered something to Al. No one could hear what the man said but, whatever it was, it made Al nod his thanks.

Just then, another man's voice echoed throughout the corridor.

"Where's he? I'm gonna kill him!"

"Havoc, control yourself!"

Everyone turned to see Havoc heading at their direction, Hawkeye and Hughes trying to calm him down. Beregond swallowed hard, not expecting that kind of reaction; then crouched a bit, as though bracing himself for the smack on the head that he somehow knew he would receive.

"You, sir, are a _liar!_" Havoc said, pointing his finger at Beregond. "If I had known you _weren't_ as defenceless as you appeared to be, I would never have shot you but run for life instead!" And with that, he laughed, loud and clear.

Beregond looked up, surprised. Realising that Havoc was only joking, he laughed as well and threw a mock punch on the lieutenant's arm.

Maes, however, was now looking at him seriously. "That brings us to the question _I_ meant to ask. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I, uh…" Beregond hesitated. Telling about himself to one person alone, as though from friend to friend, was one thing; talking to a group, however, felt too much like boasting, and Beregond hated it. "I was a soldier," he finally said softly.

Everyone was certainly surprised at this. Everyone, that is, except for Lieutenant Hawkeye, who was now gently prodding Beregond with her calm expression to carry on; something that Beregond did, encouraged.

"And, actually, that was why I came here in the first place," he added. "I want to work."

Ed looked at Beregond, his curiosity clear on his face. "Why didn't you tell me or Al anything? We could have helped you out."

Beregond blushed. "I wanted to see if I could do it on my own. I also wanted it to be a surprise." He bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Edward."

Ed blinked, as he wasn't used to being apologised at. "No problem."

Just then, Roy, who had remained silent and lost in thought, spoke. "Work, huh?" He smirked. "I think it can be arranged."

"Really, Sir?"

Mustang nodded. "Return here in a month or so. Meanwhile, study every book about the military you can lay your hands upon. Do you think you can do that?"

Beregond grinned. "Yes."

"Good. The people here will be able to help you, if you've got any questions concerning your exams. That'll be all." And Roy walked away, followed by Hughes, Hawkeye and Havoc. And, since the crisis was taken care of, the rest of the soldiers headed for their own posts also. The only ones that remained in the corridor now were Edward, Alphonse and Beregond.

"Will you two stay here?" the man asked then.

Ed thought about it. "Since we got here, we might as well do some stuff that need our attention."

Alphonse nodded in confirmation.

"Okay. I'll go to the library to see what books I can check out. I'll see you later," Beregond declared and, after waving the brothers goodbye, he was gone.

Edward watched the man go. As soon as Beregond was out of sight, he turned to Alphonse. "Al, can you answer me something?"

"What?" asked the armour, bemused.

"What did he whisper to you?"

Al's eyes flashed brilliantly at the memory. If he could, he would have even smiled proudly. "He thanked me for wishing to fight for him, and that he'd always keep that in his heart."

Ed smiled before he could help it, approving of Beregond's kind action.


	11. A Glimpse On A Journal

September 13th

_Beregond has gathered all the books needed for his exams, and has started studying. He's settled on the floor, book in one hand and a pen in the other to scribble anything of importance on a notebook next to him. He's only moved from there once, to have dinner with Al and me._

_This kind of enthusiasm worries me. Considering that now Beregond's time is torn between his studying and his learning Alchemy, I can't help thinking that it's perhaps too much for him; that he might have to give up on either of them, so he doesn't burn out._

_Truth be told, I'm not sure in which of the two cases I'll be more relieved: whether Beregond gives up on Alchemy, or his wish for a military career. I still don't know why he wants to learn Alchemy and I don't want him to attempt anything dangerous (now I think I understand my teacher a little bit better); on the other hand, I don't know what the army was like where Beregond came from, but I don't want him to discover that he's trapped and with no free will of his own._

_I guess Al said it best in a conversation we had in private: I don't want to see Beregond make the mistakes _we've _made._

_He's right. That man seems too… nice (for luck of any better word) to go down that path._

**________________**

_September 21__st_

_It seems that I underestimated Beregond's stubbornness. Not only he didn't give up on either of his main preoccupations but, as the days go by, his studying of both of them has become even more gruesome. What's most intriguing is that he's, in fact, doing exceptionally well in both Alchemy and Military Studies._

_That's also what makes me apprehensive as to what's to come. I can understand him not facing difficulties in the Military Studies, since he's a former soldier and everything. But, when it comes to Alchemy, I'm getting more convinced that Beregond knows more about it than he let me believe at first._

_It was Al who first noticed it. He had been drawing a transmutation circle to show it to Beregond, when the postman knocked on the door to give a letter from Winry. Al left the array incomplete so as to take the letter and, upon his return, he was surprised to see that Beregond had completed it correctly; even though this was the first time he had seen _that_ array and he didn't know what its purpose was._

_The only answer Beregond gave when we asked him about it was: "It just felt right that way."_

_When I reported this to Mustang, he was as surprised at this as I was. After some thought, he gave me one of his books on Alchemy and told me to make Beregond read it without any assistance from Al or me. I hesitated at first, as that book was too complicated for the level Beregond was currently at in Alchemy; nevertheless, I gave it to him, because I understood what was in the Colonel's mind and, frankly, I was just as curious to see the result as Mustang was._

_I was astounded to see that Beregond not only managed to read the book in spite of his studying, but he was also able to tell me, in his own words, the theories in it; which one he thought was best; and why. _

_It's now a certainty beyond any doubt. Beregond _knows_ Alchemy but apparently he's not aware of it, at least not yet. _

_Mustang believes now that we're finally making a breakthrough on Beregond's secrets. _I___still have my doubts as the nagging feeling that, for every answer we get, there are at least a dozen more questions that pop up, still lingers on. _

_________________

_September 28__th_

_Last night I saw a side of Beregond I hadn't expected to see. I woke up and I intended to go into the kitchen to have some water when, as I opened the door, I saw him standing by the window. The moonlight shone brilliantly on him, and he was tilting his head as though he wanted to listen to something, his lips flowing out gentle murmurs in a chant: _

…_Calad ammen i reniar __  
__Mi 'aladhremmin ennorath! __  
__A Elbereth Gilthoniel __  
__I chîn a thûl lin míriel…_

_I had never heard anything more heart-stirring than that soft whisper. It was like a gentle ripple of the wind that carried haunting voices from times long forgotten, calling me and asking me to listen to them, so I could be part of them. _

_No, Beregond didn't feel like he was a simple man anymore. There was something ancient, primitive in him; yet with such grace and reverence that I couldn't help but be awed by it. _

_It was with difficulty and regret that I broke that spell on me. Shaking my head and with my thirst forgotten, I turned to go back into my room._

_Only sleep stopped that strange beating in my heart. _

____________________

_October 3__rd_

_Beregond caught me looking inside my pocket watch today. _

_That in itself isn't so bad. After all, what's wrong with looking at pocket watches, right?_

_The problem was… he caught me looking inside my pocket watch and _crying.

_It wasn't meant to happen. I had hoped that he had followed Alphonse to the market, giving me a little time to myself so as to remember what I should never forget. To let myself go and not have to be the strong elder brother just for a little while. I was wrong in my assumptions. _

_Admittedly, even under these circumstances, Beregond probably wouldn't have realised anything – I had stayed in my room. But, apparently, a sob or two were louder than they should be because, next thing I knew, he was opening the door and staring at me in surprise._

_At that moment, I really got angry with him. For crying out loud, didn't they teach him to knock before walking into someone else's room? I'm not a damn tourist attraction to be gazed at whenever the waterworks break! I turned my back to him and I shouted at him to get out._

_He didn't say anything then, I just heard his retreat. But afterwards, when I finally pulled myself together and came out of my room to go to the bathroom and wash my face, he was already waiting for me and offering me a handkerchief to wipe a couple of tears that clung stubbornly on my cheeks._

_I stared at him incredulously until, what it seemed like hours later, I reached for the kerchief. The guilt I felt at that moment was as bad as my previous anger. Beregond did nothing wrong except getting concerned, and yet I just snapped at him._

_I opened my mouth to apologise for my behaviour, but he just placed a hand on my lips, silencing me._

"_I know," was all he said, smiling wanly. _

_Something in that look in his eyes told me that he really did._

__________________

_October 14__th_

_The first signs of fatigue have finally started showing on Beregond. These past few days he's become listless, ready to fall asleep the moment he sits down somewhere, be it couch, chair, or even the floor. _

_Still, he never takes a break, even though Al tries to talk him into doing so. He's nervous of the exams, it is clear, and it shows on his Alchemy lessons, too. He doesn't concentrate as much as he used to and he has even started making mistakes._

_Today, I've decided that this won't do anymore, so I told him that we would stop the Alchemy lessons until he took his exams. He objected at first, claiming he was fine (like I expected him to), but then I told him that he was in such a mess that he has started worrying Alphonse._

_Worked like a charm. He relented at once._

_Like I would, had they used that trick on me._

_It's strange to see such care on Beregond's part when it comes to Al. I realise that it must be because Al is the one that Beregond feels closest to for the present. They've spent so much time together at the hospital and then at the house, Al teaching and Beregond learning, that they've now come to share a bond of trust. _

_And now, after what happened a few days ago, I've seen that Beregond is trying to create such a bond between us, too. He looks at me with the same care he looks at Al. _

_It's unsettling, since I can't return those sentiments. _

_I can't befriend an object of observation. _

____________________

_October 20__th_

_Beregond just came back from the last part of his exam: the interview. He only said that Mustang told him things looked good; then lay on the couch, face down. He barely had time to mumble something that could be translated roughly as 'goodnight' before he started snoring._

_Loudly._

_I think Al and I will go for a walk to let him rest. He deserves it._

_______________________

_October 25__th_

_Havoc came by today, carrying an envelope for Beregond. Beregond is officially in the army now, after succeeding in getting the highest marks the supervisors had seen in a long time. Furthermore, because of his exemplary conduct on the crisis with Guyton and his previous experience as a soldier, he's to begin his career as sergeant - in _our_ unit._

_Somehow I get the feeling that Mustang pulled several strings for that, but I won't tell Beregond. I know that would disappoint him._

_____________________

_October 26__th_

_It seems that Mustang pulled a lot more strings than I thought. All three of us went to Headquarters to see what would be Beregond's duties, and it turned out he was assigned as my personal assistant and escort. I have to hand it to him, Mustang is one sly fox. In this way he made sure Beregond happily worked away among people he knew and in controlled environment, and I kept my eye on him as I was supposed to. _

_Al doesn't seem to mind that arrangement. After all, to him it means that the three of us can still be together even when we're working. And, oddly enough, I'm not as annoyed to having an escort as I thought I would be – for once._

_I guess I've got too accustomed in having Beregond around to mind anymore._

_And, admittedly, he isn't half bad a company._

_If anything, things might become a bit more interesting at Headquarters. _

TBC…


	12. A Day At Headquarters

The phone rang loudly, startling Beregond yet again. Shaking his head with a sigh, the man decided that he simply wouldn't be able to get used to that sound at all. On the other hand, giving into his temptation and throw that vile thing out the window wasn't the best option either, since answering phones was part of his work. So, while looking once more at the papers in front of him, he picked the receiver up.

"Sergeant Beregond speaking, how can I help you?" he said politely, the way Havoc had told him to. He immediately straightened his back when he heard the voice. "Sir. No, I'm sorry, Colonel. Edwa… Fullmetal's gone to the training facilities to spar. No, Alphonse isn't here either. He remained home to look at some new books they got from the library. Very well, Sir. I'll see you in a short while, Sir."

Beregond placed the receiver down, and he was surprised that there was a knock on his door. "Yes?"

The door opened and a familiar form walked in. "Why, Sergeant, you could say a 'hello', you know," said Hughes, the tease quite evident.

Beregond instantly stood up in attention. "Sir!"

But Maes only smiled and waved his hand dismissively. "At ease, Beregond. I came here as a friend."

That relaxed Beregond enough. "I'm just trying to adjust," he said. He sat down again, smiling at Hughes. "So what brings you here? It's been a while since we last talked."

"No particular reason – although don't say that to anyone," said Maes with a chuckle. He flinched when Beregond pressed on each of the papers on the desk the State Alchemist's stamp with a loud thudding sound. "Whoa! Easy! You're supposed to prepare the reports to be signed, not beat them to death!" he exclaimed, laughing.

"Very funny," Beregond retorted, bantering playfully. "I can't help it though. This stamp is all dried up. Look how this comes out." He showed a paper, and indeed the imprint was more than just faded.

Maes chuckled and, taking the stamp from Beregond's hands, he gently pressed it first on the ink box nearby; then at the paper. Beregond was surprised to see that the stamp was now as clear as day. He blushed when he realised how he blundered.

"Hey, it's only been two days since you started," Maes said kindly. "Just don't be afraid to ask for help when problems present themselves, okay? The guys here will be more than glad to put you back on the right track."

"I'll do that," said Beregond, nodding.

"Good." Maes looked around for a moment. "Are Ed and Al here?"

"Not right now, no."

"Aw, tough luck. I wanted to tell them how much Elysia has grown!"

Beregond smirked and he chocked down a small chuckle as he mentally pictured Edward sighing with relief at this… misfortune. On the other hand…

"You could tell _me_, if you like. I'd like to hear it," Beregond said seriously.

There was silence, and Maes looked Beregond in a curious manner.

"Did I say something wrong?" Beregond asked, uncertain.

"No, you didn't," Maes said reassuringly. "It's just… I'm not used to that kind of reaction. It's usually groans or 'No way, Hughes, I don't want to know about your daughter!'"

"Oh, you noticed that." Beregond gasped when he realised what he said. "I mean…"

But Maes only laughed. "That's okay. I can't expect everyone to appreciate how proud I'm of her or my wife."

Beregond nodded. "Yes, I know what you mean." His heart sank a bit as memories flooded through his mind. "It makes you feel whole and blessed and you want to thank that ultimate force that brought them in your life every single day that you share it with them," he said before he could help it.

"Exactly!" However, Maes noticed the change on Beregond's expression. "Beregond? Are you okay?"

Beregond snapped himself out of his reverie. "Yes. I apologise, I was thinking of something."

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Beregond couldn't help but smile at the concern. _You're a good man, Hughes. But I can't tell you of my real problem. _

"Quite sure,"was all he said.

"All right." It was clear that Hughes more likely decided to drop the subject than felt assured, because a small, embarrassed pause followed.

"Here's another idea. How about you see Gracia and Elysia in person?" Hughes asked then, all of a sudden it seemed.

"What?!" Beregond said, incredulously.

"I'm serious! When and if you're in Central, escorting Ed and Al, just call so we can meet. The invitation is extended to them, too, of course."

Beregond thought about it. It was true that he had seen so many pictures of Hughes' family that he had become curious enough to meet them.

"If my boss has it, then it's a deal," he finally answered.

"Don't worry about Ed and Al; I'm sure they'll want to see them again, too," Hughes said with a chuckle. "Well, I'd better let you be; I need to talk to the Colonel, too."

"Wait, we'll go together. The Colonel said he wanted to see me for something concerning Edward." Beregond looked a bit at the papers, making sure that he had everything, then put them in order on the desk and placed a pen near them for Ed in case the boy came while he was gone to Mustang's office; and left with Hughes. When he returned, Ed was indeed back, already signing the papers.

"Well, Beregond? Any news so far?" he asked.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes was here a little while ago, he wanted to say 'hi'," Beregond said as businesslike as it was appropriate for a sergeant. "I've also just got back from the Colonel's office and I've arranged a meeting for you tomorrow at ten o'clock. He said he wanted to speak with you."

"Ten?" echoed Ed.

Beregond grinned. "Not too early, not too late; you can consider yourself done with it _and_ have the day to yourself should you be spared from any missions this time."

Ed chuckled before he could help it. "Good thinking." He signed the last report and put them all in one pile aside. "Just finished."

"Wait, there's also this one," said Beregond. He opened the drawer and took out a large yellow envelope. "It's the one you wish to work on personally. You said you wanted to have a look at it today."

Ed swallowed a bit, hoping that Beregond wouldn't notice. "Ah, yeah… thanks."

Beregond looked at Edward curiously. "Were you actually hoping I'd forget about it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ed seized the chance. "Yes."

Beregond laughed. "Not in a million years. I don't want to be discharged, you know."

Ed forced a laugh, too before handing the signed reports to Beregond. "Will you give these to Lieutenant Hawkeye? We might as well hand them in since they're ready."

Now it was Beregond's part to swallow uncomfortably, but he tried not to show it. "Yes, Sir."

Ed looked at Beregond. "Were you actually hoping you wouldn't have to today?"

"Yes." _Sorry for the deceit, Edward._

Ed grinned. "Well, look at it from the bright side. You won't have all that many things to do tomorrow."

Beregond nodded slightly. "Well, I had better go then." He was about to walk out, when Edward's voice stopped him again.

"And, Beregond? I won't be needing you for the next hour or so, so you can do whatever you like." He smiled again.

"Okay," replied the man; and he exited, now determined to get over his meeting with Riza as soon as possible.

He never saw Ed taking out from the yellow envelope a report with _his_ name on it, looking at it thoughtfully.



Beregond knocked a couple of times at the door of Riza's office, but there was no answer. Apparently there was no one inside.

And, frankly, he didn't know if he should be relieved or disappointed at that. On one hand, it was painful – _too_ painful at times – to see such a familiar face looking at him with no sign of recognition whatsoever. On the other hand, to see his wife – or rather, a version of her – alive, made him happy. It gave him a false sense that he wasn't among complete strangers. That he wasn't alone and maybe, just maybe, this was a gift for him; a second chance to make up for what his heart had been missing for more than ten years.

He cursed himself mentally.

_You delude yourself_. _Hawkeye is not Almiel; no matter how much alike they are to one another._ And, whether he felt it difficult or not, the fastest he came to terms with that reality, the better.

Now wishing more than anything to see his task done, Beregond rushed inside; placed (dropped, more likely) the reports on Riza's desk; and hurried out.

Only to come face to face with the very person his soul was torn about. Beregond subconsciously registered the familiar, bittersweet pang within his heart that he felt upon meeting Riza the first time.

"Sergeant Beregond? What brings you here?" Riza said, smiling politely.

_Valar, not that smile_. Yet, if he could afford the luxury, Beregond would have simply closed his eyes and savoured the sound of her voice.

Fortunately, he reminded himself that that was precisely what he should _avoid_ and, controlling himself, he saluted cordially – hoping that she wouldn't notice his face turning crimson as he spoke.

"I've brought Major Elric's reports to be handed to the Colonel, 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"Oh, I see," she replied, her expression unreadable. "Thank you."

Beregond nodded back. He didn't realise that he had remained looking at every part of Riza's face and taking in her every movement, until he noticed that she looked at him puzzled.

He really wished that he somehow vanished at that instant.

"Well, um… okay then. I'll take your leave now," he said in one quick breath. He turned on his heel and, doing his best not to _sprint_ away, he headed down the corridor.

He didn't see Havoc until it was too late. As a result, the two men bumped quite forcefully, thus ending up on the floor and the papers that Havoc had been carrying falling on their heads like large confetti.

Seeing what happened, Riza hurried at them.

"Are you two all right?"

"Yeah. I can't say the same about the papers though," Havoc said, bringing himself to a sitting position with a wince on his face. He looked at the one responsible for that mess. "I mean, honestly, Beregond, where was the fire?"

Beregond sat up also, ashamed for what happened and averted his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

The sight that Beregond presented at that moment must have been quite pitiful, for Havoc prodded gently the sergeant to look at him and see that he wasn't angry. "It's okay. Just help us pick them up and put them in order."

Beregond rewarded Havoc with a half-hearted nod, and he arose to assist. He never looked toward Riza as he picked up the papers and, when his hand accidentally touched hers as they reached for the same piece of paper, he drew it back as though he got burned. And when the papers were finally picked and placed in order, the salute he gave before walking away was a rushed one.

Exchanging a look, the two lieutenants came into a silent agreement. While Riza was taking the papers in her office, Havoc went after Beregond.

He didn't have to go very far. The moment that he turned the corner, he saw Beregond hitting the wall with his fist, muttering repeatedly: "Alhand." (Stupid)

"Hey, stop that!" Havoc cried, grabbing Beregond's hand. Gripping the man's shoulders, he made the man look into his eyes. "Easy now," he coaxed. "Everything is all right."

"It isn't," Beregond kept saying, shaking his head.

"Then it _will_ be," Havoc replied in a soothing manner. "Just calm down."

It took several moments, but Beregond finally took a couple of deep breaths and managed to compose himself. Feeling drained, he patted Havoc's shoulder in a tired manner. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." A small pause followed. "Are you gonna tell me what upset you or do I have to figure it out?"

Beregond sighed, and pulled himself gently out of Havoc's grip. "It's no big deal."

Havoc looked at Beregond hard. "Tell that to Riza." He nodded when he saw Beregond breathing in sharply. "She's not blind, and neither am I; or anyone else in the same building for that matter. You only behave in that irrational way whenever _she's_ near. So you'd better start talking."

Beregond bowed his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Beregond closed his eyes momentarily. He wasn't going to get away that easily from this one. "All right. But, please, can we go somewhere else?" He remembered himself. "Sir?"

Havoc nodded. "Okay. Let's go to the canteen; it's almost lunch break anyway."



A quarter of an hour later, Havoc was looking at Beregond incredulously, trying to find the correct words to say and failing miserably.

"Your _wife?_"

A nod gave him the answer.

"That's heavy," Havoc said finally, lighting a cigarette. "Riza actually thought that you don't like to have a woman as superior."

Beregond laughed. "Nothing further from the truth." Even though there were no female soldiers in Gondor, that didn't mean soldiers wouldn't take orders from their lords' wives. Beregond knew this best, since he served lady Éowyn. "And what did you think, Havoc?" He asked, eyeing the lieutenant.

"That you have a huge crush on her," Havoc said, smiling embarrassedly. "Do you want to know what the others thought?"

"I'd rather not." Beregond dug a bit on his food with his fork. "I suppose I've made myself a complete fool, haven't I?"

"Well, love makes us fools." However, Havoc soon sobered again and looked at Beregond thoughtfully. "Has it been long since she died? Your wife, I mean."

"Thirteen years."

Havoc almost dropped his cigarette at this. "Thir--? Didn't you ever think of getting married again?"

Beregond raised an eyebrow of curiosity. That was enough answer.

"Fall in love with another woman?"

The expression of curiosity changed into a frown.

"Date?"

Beregond shook his head.

Havoc couldn't believe it. How could he, when he knew for a fact that even Lieutenant Colonel Hughes had his share of dates before settling with Gracia? Heck, even Fuery, who seemed to think only of animals?

"Please tell me that you at least looked at a woman and you thought that she'd make good company?"

"Of course!" answered Beregond. But before Havoc could feel relieved, the man just had to add: "I always enjoy a good talk."

Thus Havoc felt like collapsing from his chair instead.

"So, what you're telling me is that you haven't _been_ with a woman for thirteen years? How about before that?"

"I had Almiel."

"No! I mean before her."

"Oh!" Beregond finally understood. "No."

The cigarette finally dropped and landed on the table, but Havoc hardly paid heed to it. "Wow… you _really _loved her."

"Of course I did, we're talking about my wife!" Beregond exclaimed huffily. He dropped his fork in resignation, deciding that he couldn't eat anything, and heaved a sigh. "And now that I saw Riza, I…" He didn't continue for many moments; his fingers twitched slightly as though they were ready to caress something invisible. "I look at something that could fill my heart again and I know all I have to do is reach out and take it." His hand clenched violently into a fist. "But I also know that it's too far away and not mine anymore." He locked his gaze on the other man. "I'm not blind either, Havoc. I've seen how she looks at the Colonel, and it's precisely the way Almiel used to look at me." He sighed again, a melancholic expression settling on his features. "Don't get me wrong, I don't blame Riza for any of this. But I can't help thinking that it's unfair."

At that moment, Havoc truly felt for him. "So what are you planning to do?"

"What else is there to be done?" said Beregond with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'll just grit my teeth and get over it. It won't be easy, but I'll make sure I won't fail."

Havoc nodded. "Good idea. But you wanna take my advice? I think it's best that you also talked with Riza about this."

Beregond snorted. "She'll think I'm an idiot - or, worse, a pervert."

"She won't. Trust me on this, she may look like your wife, but I've known her longer than you. She's straightforward with everyone and she expects from everyone else to be straightforward with her. She _wants_ you to be honest with her. If nothing else, she'll know how matters stand and deal with the situation – she might even help you out."

Beregond pondered on that for a couple of moments. "I understand. I'll follow your advice."

"The sooner the better," said Havoc.

"I'll go now." Beregond quickly stood up and saluted Havoc in respect. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now go," the lieutenant said, smiling.

Beregond left, and Havoc remained sitting at the table. He wasn't surprised when Breda came to him a few moments later, for he had noticed him watching his conversation with Beregond long ago.

"So it's not a crush?" Breda asked.

"No. And he's not picturing her in miniskirts either, so the bet's off."

Breda just shrugged indifferently. "Where's he going now?"

"To talk to her."

Breda instantly beamed. "1200 cenz say she'll shoot him."

Havoc smirked. "1500 say she'll get dumbfounded, and then so touched she might even cry."

Breda eyed Havoc. "Do you know something I don't?"

The lieutenant nodded. "And I'm still dumbfounded and touched by it myself."



Later that afternoon, the moment that Mustang lifted his head to get the papers Riza was handing him, he was surprised to see that her eyes were red.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye… have you been crying?"

Thus Havoc made the easiest 1500 cenz of his life.

Meanwhile, Edward was still in his office with the yellow envelope in his hands and writing down anything worthwhile considering Beregond, when he lifted his head; he had heard the sound of footsteps getting closer. Suspecting who it could be, Ed quickly placed the yellow envelope back in the drawer, grabbed a random piece of paper that he caught sight of and waited for Beregond to appear.

Sure enough, Beregond came in after knocking at the door politely, and Edward was surprised to see that the man's eyes were glistening with… those couldn't be tears!

"Is everything okay?" the young alchemist asked.

Beregond smiled. "It will be."

And that's all the man would say, so Ed decided to let the matter be for the present. He placed the paper he was supposedly looking at down in a dismissive way and then stood up, stretching himself.

"Well, I don't know about you, Beregond, but I'm beat," he declared. "And I don't find it nice to leave Al at the house on his own, waiting for us."

Beregond smirked. "I take it you're leaving then?"

"Aren't you coming?" asked Ed, puzzled. "I thought you had finished with the paperwork."

"I did, but…" Beregond stopped, as though realising something all of a sudden. "Right. I forgot myself." He picked up his overcoat and handed Edward his own, thus earning a nod of thanks.

Still, Ed just couldn't help himself. "Forgot yourself how?" he asked once exiting the office.

Beregond took out a set of keys and locked the door. "My previous duties were far more than they are now; I have still to get used to finishing this early."

Edward looked up at the man as they both started walking. "Seriously? What kind of duties did you have?"

The man pondered on it for a few moments. "It depended. On a typical day, I would wake up at dawn; organise the patrols for the day; decide which route each team should follow, and then I'd pick one of the teams to lead – I always supervised the patrols personally. Upon my return in the afternoon, I'd instruct the young ones in honourable combat; I'd supervise their sparring; and then I'd meet with my second-in-command to schedule drills, inspection days and shifts for the soldiers. In the evening, I'd report to my l… _superior_ about the day and after that, I'd make one final round around the place, revise my schedule for the next day to make sure everything was in order and I would go to bed."

"No paperwork?" asked Ed, slightly surprised.

"No need for it," answered Beregond.

"You were lucky," Ed muttered. For Ed felt that he could handle any kind of task, no matter how difficult, challenging or time-consuming it was, except working on reports. That was one more reason that he had come to appreciate Beregond as a secretary. "What rank were you, anyway?"

"I'm afraid there's no word for it," said the man, scratching his head in embarrassment. "Something between colonel and brigadier general, I'd say."

Edward stopped on his tracks and looked at Beregond incredulously. "No way!"

Beregond stopped too and regarded Ed in confusion. "I have it wrong then?"

Ed found himself uncertain as to what to say next. "I don't know… It's just… I mean you… Well, you aren't…" He groaned inwardly at his hesitation. "You don't look like it!"

On second thought, Ed figured that it was best he hadn't said anything at all. He had just practically insulted the man!

Beregond was anything but offended though. He laughed heartily instead, and winked at Ed. "You also thought I looked too young to be forty," he reminded the young alchemist. With another chuckle flowing out of his lips, he continued on walking.

Edward regarded Beregond for a few moments as the latter still walked away; then shook his head and caught up with him. And as they still walked, Ed couldn't help but cast sidelong glances at the sergeant, who was now humming to himself a tune.

It was just as Ed thought. Beregond seemed too down to earth and gentle to have been a commanding officer, certainly of such importance as a brigadier general. Most of the commanding officers Ed had met were cynical, calculating and cold-blooded, qualities regarded as necessary in the army. After all, how would those officers be able to see even to the most horrible task as killing hundreds of people in times of war if they weren't exactly that?

Beregond was anything _but_ that.

On the other hand… he still remembered Beregond's face when Guyton held him at gunpoint as hostage. Beregond was really calm and collected, even though his own life was at risk; Ed had to admit that. And the way Beregond handled the situation – Ed had approved of the man's quick thinking - showed how much in control he was of everything; much like an officer is expected to.

Well, something more to add on his report to Mustang tomorrow.

"Well, well, look what we've got here. I half-expected that they'd keep you in a cage in case you ran off."

Ed and Beregond turned at the sound of such a sarcastic voice. To their indignation, it was someone they both hoped they would never have to face again.

Fawcette looked Beregond from head to toe, looking at the uniform the latter was wearing, and it seemed like he was quite displeased with what he saw. "Then again, I see that you've been exceptionally well-trained, ape. You almost look human now."

The moment he heard this, Ed hands clenched his hands into fists. "You have no right to speak to the sergeant like that!"

"And why not, Major Elric? Because you will defend him? How touching." Fawcette curled his upper lip in distaste. "An adult hiding behind a kid."

"And I see a coward hiding behind his rank!" spat Ed angrily.

Fawcette smirked. "Watch your mouth, Major, or I could have you reported. And then, not even Colonel Mustang would be able to cover your ass."

Before Ed had time to retort, Beregond's voice stopped him.

"Requesting permission to speak for myself, Sir!"

Surprised, both Ed and Fawcette turned to look at Beregond, who was now standing proudly in attention, waiting for Ed's answer.

Though it was difficult for him, Ed relented. It was obvious that Beregond considered it a matter that he had to deal on his own. "Go ahead, Sergeant."

Beregond bowed slightly his head in respect; then faced Fawcette.

"I don't think I need to hear anything that an ape might have to say to me," was all the lieutenant colonel said.

Just then, however, Beregond leaned close and spoke in a soft, yet very angry tone. "Ever since you've seen me, Sir, you've done nothing but keep calling me an ape. Personally, I wonder how you are supposed to call a man who had to give the military exams three times before finally being accepted - through _bribery_." And with that, Beregond saluted again, an evident smirk of triumph on his face. "I'm done, Sir," he said to Edward; and resumed his walking.

Edward followed him, grinning broadly. Neither of them bothered to look back at Fawcette, who was now beside himself with fury and kept shouting: "You will pay for that, ape! If I find just one word wrong about _you_ in any records, you're going down!"

"By the way," Ed asked, as both he and Beregond exited Headquarters, "How did you know that about Fawcette?"

Beregond, surprisingly enough, blushed. "I didn't. But I can't see how else he got to be in the army."

Ed was still laughing when they arrived at the house, making Al look at him quite puzzled.


	13. The Letter

"Sir? Fullmetal is here for his weekly report."

"Send him in, 1st Lieutenant," said Roy without looking up from the papers he was holding.

Riza did just that and, in a matter of moments, Ed had taken a seat in front of Mustang's office, waiting for the colonel to give him the command to speak.

Roy, however, didn't seem too eager in rushing matters. He just kept staring at the papers for many moments, something that made Edward more than annoyed. Just when he was about to start talking anyway, Roy's voice cut him off.

"Any problems with Sergeant Beregond so far?"

Ed blinked, momentarily taken aback. "None. He's adjusted smoothly."

"_Too _smoothly, I'd say," noted Roy, locking his gaze on Edward at last. "It's been circulating that yesterday afternoon he answered back to Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette quite rudely, and even went as far as to accuse him of bribing his way into joining the military."

"It was too little compared to what Fawcette said to him _first_," Ed said angrily.

"So you were there when that happened."

"Yes. And I approved of Beregond's actions a hundred percent."

"I'm not surprised," said Roy in a wry manner, making Edward smirk inwardly. After all, both he and the colonel had lost count on how many times they had exchanged rude remarks to one another.

Roy was far from finished though, because he shook his head, letting out a sigh. "Please make sure you explain to Sergeant Beregond that he can't go about insulting higher-ranking officers, no matter how wronged he feels or how _correct_ his accusations are." At that point it became clear to Edward that Mustang had enjoyed what Beregond had said more than he wished for anyone to believe. "It's to his best interest, in fact, not to be provocative at all. There are already too many questions concerning his person and several people that want to find wrong in him and have him discharged dishonourably. Is that understood, Fullmetal?"

Edward nodded. He hated to admit it, but the colonel was right.

"Good. Now let's get on with your report, shall we?"

Opening his yellow envelope, the young alchemist stated every piece of information that he had managed to gather so far, including Beregond's previous rank and how he hadn't managed to find anything on the archives about any curious alchemic accidents in which Beregond, or any family he might have had, could have been involved. And as Ed kept talking, Roy was resting his back against his chair, his fingers knitted together and his gaze locked upwards, as though he was lost in thought.

Once Ed finished, he put all his notes and papers back on the envelope. "That's about it, Colonel. I'll probably have more to report next time." He was about to walk out when Roy's voice stopped him.

"Wait a second, Fullmetal."

Ed turned, surprised.

"You had mentioned in your previous reports that you had hit a snag on your alchemy lessons with Beregond," Roy said. "Have there been any improvements so far?"

Ed sat down again, shaking his head. "Yes and no."

Roy frowned. "Please explain yourself, Fullmetal."

"I _can't_ explain it, Colonel," said Ed. "We've been working on those lessons hard, and Beregond's managed to master every theory that Al and I taught him. But, when it comes to _performing_ any alchemy, he chokes." He heaved a sigh. "I wish I knew why."

Roy thought about it for a while. "It's understandable to some degree. He's probably afraid he might make a mistake. Let's not forget that, in many ways, he's still a beginner and he doesn't want to disappoint his teachers," he said, smiling a bit.

"But he can't just avoid performing alchemy forever! Then all these lessons have been for nothing!" exclaimed Ed.

"I'm aware of it, Fullmetal," said Roy. "That's why I believe it's high time we motivated him a little further."

Ed raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Motivate him how?"

It was then that Roy held up the papers he had been looking at before his subordinate entered. "I have here a letter by a certain Miss May Shaughnessy."

Ed looked at Roy in wonder. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Actually, Fullmetal, it is. Her father was acquainted with a certain Hohenheim Elric."

Ed's eyes widened.

"Ah, I thought that might catch your attention. As I was saying, this Miss Shaughnessy found on one of her now late father's trunks a letter that belonged to you and your brother. Yes, Fullmetal, it was one of the many letters that you had sent in every direction in the hopes of finding out your father's whereabouts. Apparently, as it is explained here, by the time your letter had arrived in Mr. Shaughnessy's hands, he was suffering from a severe stroke and he couldn't answer it even if he wanted to. Seeing that an answer was necessary, even after such a long time, Miss Shaughnessy sent a letter to you back to your hometown. Of course, you were gone by then. She tried to hear news of you, but she finally gave up. That is, until at last she heard of a certain Edward Elric, whose age matched with the boy she had been looking for. So, she ventured to send another letter; this time here, at Eastern Headquarters."

"And what's in this letter?" asked Ed impatiently. Damn it, he really hated the way Mustang toyed with him at times!

Roy smirked. He was clearly hoping to get Ed annoyed, but he finally decided that that was as far as he would push it this time.

"Your father's last known address. Close to Miss Shaughnessy's house there is a small cottage where your father had been living till seven years ago, cooperating with Mr. Shaughnessy in a research concerning the philosopher's stone." The colonel waited a bit in case there was any kind of change in Edward's expression.

There was none. "Where's that house?"

"In a quaint little village, near the northern borders. You and Alphonse can go whenever you like," said Roy. "However, I must insist that Sergeant Beregond goes with you. He's still one of your missions, after all. Besides, this is i_his/i_ first assignment outside an office and it has to do with Alchemy as well; it might give him the confidence he seems to be lacking for the present."

"Right," was all that Ed said. He quickly stood up and, after saying a brief thanks to the colonel, he walked out.

-----------------

As Ed and Al found out, however, being escorted on a long trip by Beregond was easier said than done, because lack of confidence in performing Alchemy wasn't the only thing the man was suffering from. When Beregond saw the sea of people pouring in and out of the train station, he clung on Al's arm and didn't let go for one instant, except to jump in fright at every train that whistled its departure. Worse still, Beregond couldn't understand a thing that he was told since the racket kept deafening him and distracting him, something especially inconvenient when Beregond attacked a man and the brothers had to explain to him that that man was the _porter_ and it was his _job_ to take other people's bags.

Yet the worst thing was saved for last. The moment that Beregond saw just where they would get in to travel, he refused to get on board, no matter how gently Alphonse coaxed him or how harshly Ed threatened to turn him into a fish. Not seeing any other way and at Ed's word, Al grabbed the man from the waist and tried to carry him inside. But, being acquainted with carrying Edward and only when it was absolutely necessary, Al didn't realise that a desperate, struggling man could make him lose his footing and fall over Edward, thus all three ending up in a tangled heap on the tiled floor of the platform.

In the end, after a few angry looks from the conductors, apologies from Al and taking care of Ed's bruises, the three had boarded and found their seats. For the most part of the journey, Al sat completely still, not saying a word in his embarrassment for what happened; Ed kept glaring at Beregond; and Beregond rested his head against the window, his face ashen-grey and looking as though he would at any moment let out his last gasp of breath. He had become so nauseous and weak, in fact, that when it was time for them to change trains in Central, he only whimpered his protest in a soft tone as Al dragged him along and placed him on their new seats. Such a pitiable sight finally made Ed's temper ebb away, and he even took turns with Al in rubbing the man's back in the hopes of soothing him.

It was true Beregond appreciated the gesture, but he was more relieved when they had finally arrived at the last station of their trip and got out of the train. And he certainly didn't mind at all when Ed and Al told him that they would have to walk six miles in the evening darkness to reach the village where Miss Shaughnessy's house was. In his own words: "I would have walked here even from our house if I had known in what kind of monstrosity you would put me."

Yet walking wasn't necessary after all. Ed spotted just outside the station a cart with a broken wheel and the owner beside it looking quite downcast; so, by using alchemy to fix the wheel, he earned for all three of them a free lift to Miss Shaughnessy's house. Ed sat beside the villager, whereas Beregond and Al were to sit behind, beside an enormous and ferocious-looking dog. Because of this, the villager warned the man to be very careful and not try to do anything that might anger the dog; on the other hand, he advised Al to be ready to help should the dog decide to bite anyway.

Nevertheless, everyone was surprised to see that not only the dog didn't attack Beregond, but it started wagging its tail with abandon as though it greeted an old friend. And as the cart moved on, Al was even more surprised to see that the dog had settled next to Beregond, its eyes half-closed dreamily while the man kept talking to it in his unique language and rubbing its ears in a loving way. It was strange, but Al couldn't help remembering the time Beregond had managed to calm down Ed back at the hospital; and he decided that, the similarities between _that_ incident and the scene before him now were too many to be dismissed as coincidental.

But, unfortunately, Al didn't have much time to ponder on it. At that moment the villager gave the soft "whoa!" command, and the horse that drove the cart came to a gentle halt right in front of Miss Shaughnessy's house. After thanking the villager, the three travellers went up to the doorstep and rang the bell.

A young woman, possibly in her late twenties, opened the door, and she looked at the three of them quizzically.

"Can I help you?" she asked Beregond. A man in a suit must have proved a less strange sight in her eyes.

Beregond looked a bit embarrassed towards Edward, who gave him with a small nod the 'go ahead'. So Beregond cleared his throat and addressed the woman. "Am I speaking to Miss Shaughnessy?"

"Yes." The woman raised an eyebrow of curiosity. "And you are?"

"Sergeant Beregond, Miss. I've been escorting Major Elric and his brother, who wish to speak with you." He motioned his hand to the brothers.

"Oh, that's right! The letter!" exclaimed Miss Shaughnessy. She extended her hand to Ed first. "Hello. Welcome to the Shaughnessy mansion."

"Thank you," Ed replied, taking the hand after some small hesitation.

-----------------

"Yes, my father was an alchemist. One of the best ones in the area in fact," said Miss Shaughnessy, taking another sip from her tea. "He was doing alchemic research to make the plantations produce more goods in the hopes that it would boost the economy of the village. If he could manage to create a philosopher's stone to help him in that, then he would consider himself successful."

"Did he succeed?" asked Ed with interest, holding his own cup with both hands. Al and Beregond simply watched on, waiting to see where this conversation would go.

"He had made quite some progress," Miss Shaughnessy answered. "But, admittedly, most of his breakthroughs were owed to Mr. Elric – that is, your father."

"What was his work here?"

Miss Shaughnessy considered matters a bit. "Frankly, I don't know what brought your father here. The both of them just happened to meet and, seeing that they shared the common goal of creating a philosopher's stone, they decided that they should work together. Their partnership lasted for a bit more than a year."

"How come it ended?"

"I'm not certain. From what I can tell, they fell out and so Mr. Elric left without a word. My father never saw him again."

Ed sipped his tea thoughtfully. "Did he leave anything behind upon his departure?"

Miss Shaughnessy shook her head. "Not much. Some notes here and there that I gathered and took them to the cottage he used to live. I figured that, should Mr. Elric return for them, he should find them safely in his own house."

"Is this cottage far from here?" asked then Al.

"A half hour's drive with the car. I will take you there personally, if you like."

"That would probably be for the best," said Ed, standing up. "Can you take us there now?"

Miss Shaughnessy smiled a bit. "Such eagerness! But it's really quite late for that now. You can stay here for the night and I can take you there tomorrow. Besides, it seems that you need some rest before going anywhere." She looked at Beregond, who was presently doing his best to stifle a yawn.

Though Ed didn't care to admit that he or his companions were tired, he decided to accept Miss Shaughnessy's suggestion. So, soon enough, the brothers and Beregond had settled in the guest room to where Miss Shaughnessy led them. In a matter of moments, Ed had laid down his weary body on one of the beds and fallen asleep… in a position that dismayed Al.

"I can't believe he fell asleep with his stomach exposed again!" he exclaimed in a whisper (dismayed or not, Al didn't want to upset his brother's sleep) and placed a blanket over Ed. When he turned to see why Beregond didn't reply to him, he discovered that the man had fallen asleep on one of the chairs.

Sighing and grateful for the strength that went with his suit of armour, Al picked up Beregond and placed him on the second bed, covering him with a blanket also. He watched the two sleeping forms for some time and, without realising it, he lay down on the only other vacant bed in the room.

_It makes you wonder who's looking after whom,_ he thought. The one was his older brother and the other their escort, for crying out loud!

And with that last thought, he sighed and remained staring out the window. The faint snore of his companions and an owl hooting somewhere outside where the only sounds that could be heard through the night.

TBC…

A/N: As always, special thanks go to Junodog for all her help while working on this story. I'd also like to thank the people who've been reading the story and taking the time to write reviews. I assure you that, from the next chapter on, the FMA story will be back on its original track, establishing the timeline. :)


	14. Paths

The next morning after breakfast, the brothers and Beregond decided it was high time that they finally went to the cottage. Miss Shaughnessy was more than happy to oblige this time, so she got the car out of the garage and told everyone to get in.

Beregond didn't move. Instead, he looked at the automobile with dismay, getting the feeling that this would end up much like the way his travelling prowess with the train did. After all, looking at such contraptions from a distance was one thing, one could get used to it after a time; but being _in_ one of them proved too foul an experience.

Frankly, he'd give everything for a horse right about now.

"Don't even think about it," Ed said at that moment, glaring at him. He clearly sensed what was going through Beregond's mind and he certainly didn't want to have another incident like the train fiasco.

Beregond sighed and got in the car, looking glum. He only hoped now that the trip would be over soon enough.

---------------

The trip wasn't over soon enough, but at least Beregond had managed to retain his cool expression throughout the whole ordeal. That is, till they had finally arrived at the cottage and Beregond stepped, or rather, jumped, out of the car - fast.

"Is your friend unwell?" Miss Shaughnessy asked Ed as she looked curiously at Beregond. The man had put quite the distance between himself and the car in a matter of seconds and Al had to go after him to see if he was all right.

"Yeah, he's just got a sensitive stomach. He'll be fine in a bit," said Ed, hoping that that kind of explanation would suffice for now. He turned and looked at the cottage for a moment. "Strange. It doesn't look abandoned."

"I always believed that your father would return, so I kept the place clean for him," Miss Shaughnessy offered as an explanation.

Ed nodded in approval. "It will serve just fine for us three then."

"Mr. Elric?"

"I think it would be best if my brother, the sergeant and I stayed here so we could gather all the notes and study them properly," explained Edward. "Besides, we couldn't possibly impose on you more than necessary."

Miss Shaughnessy smiled. "It's a good thing I've brought some food then." She took out from her car a bag filled with bread and other groceries. "They should be enough for a couple of days; till I come again and see how you're doing."

"Thank you," said Edward, gladdened.

"No need to thank me. I knowhow important your work is." And with that Miss Shaughnessy's smile broadened.

-----------------

As soon as Miss Shaughnessy drove off, the boys and Beregond stepped into the house, spending about a quarter of an hour acquainting themselves with their new surroundings. The house wasn't big, but it was cosy enough for three people to settle in. And so, as soon as everyone placed their things at a small room, they decided to start their search at once. Al and Beregond went upstairs, whereas Ed said he would go downstairs.

"So what are we looking for?" asked Beregond, looking at the attic with interest.

"Anything that so much as resembles alchemic notes," answered Al, who had already started opening several boxes and emptying the contents.

Beregond blinked, bemused. "Aren't alchemic notes written in a code only known to the alchemist who wrote them in the first place? How will we know what we're looking for?"

"We'll just know," said Al.

It was obvious that Beregond had his doubts, nevertheless he nodded his understanding. He went up to a small dusty nightstand and pulled out the drawers one by one. He was still looking at the contents when he decided to go ahead and ask what was in his mind.

"Alphonse, what exactly is a philosopher's stone?"

Al didn't answer at once. It was clear he wasn't sure how to explain matters.

"Basically, it's what its name implies. It's a stone that serves as an amplifier to an alchemist's abilities. Even the unskilled alchemist can do complicated transmutations and become powerful when he has a philosopher's stone, because he's not bound to the principles of Alchemy that restrict his skills. Back in Liore, Brother exposed a fraud that posed himself as a messenger of God because of the abilities he had acquired from such a stone. He had the stone attached to a ring and, whenever he wished to perform some 'miracle' to awe the people, he'd use the ring for that purpose."

Beregond faced Al abruptly. "Did you say a ring?"

"Yeah, I did." Al looked at the man in a puzzled manner. "Why?"

But Beregond didn't heed Al anymore, too lost in thought. Because what Alphonse said intrigued him, for it reminded him too much of the Rings of Power: rings that gave the strength and will to their bearers to govern.

This couldn't be a mere coincidence.

Could it?

"Beregond?"

Beregond finally snapped out of his reverie. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, don't worry. I just forgot myself."

"Oh." Accepting Beregond's explanation, Al resumed with his work.

Silence reigned for a couple of moments. "Alphonse?"

"Yeah?"

"You said that an unskilled alchemist could become powerful if he used a philosopher's stone, correct?"

Al nodded.

"But what you left unsaid was that a powerful alchemist could become even _more_ powerful if he used a philosopher's stone." He eyed Al hard. "Why do you and your brother want to find such a thing?"

Al's answer was a simple bow of his head, his eyes dimming. That made Beregond soften and sigh.

"I see. To fix another wrong."

Just then, the man caught sight of something small on the bottom of the last drawer. Instinctively and before he could help himself, he picked it up and had a closer look at it.

It was a picture, just like the ones Hughes kept talking about. And this one was a picture of two small boys, smiling and waving happily. Beregond recognised one of them instantly - there was no mistaking that blond hair and those amber-coloured eyes. And, of course, if that one was Edward, the other must be…

"Yeah, that was me," sounded Al's voice from his suit of armour.

Beregond turned, just in time to see Al's large hand reach for the picture and trace the form that used to be his; and even in that motion, he could tell the regret that his young friend was feeling.

Suddenly and in an attempt to regain his calm composure, Al turned and quickly resumed with his work. "We'd better carry on."

Beregond didn't move. He merely looked at the picture and then at the suit of armour thoughtfully.

"You haven't changed," he finally declared.

Al froze, those words surprising him.

"I'm a suit of armour, Beregond. I'm as different as one _can_ be," he said with a shake of his head.

But Beregond was serious as he gently prodded Al to look at him. "Yet the suit of armour, which you are now, can't hide the soul within it." He held up the picture, smiling a bit. "The soul is what still makes you that boy, no matter what you look now. You're just a bit more mature, a thing that comes naturally with the passing of time."

"I realise that but…" Al sighed, and when he continued on his sadness could easily be detected in his voice. "I want to feel again. I do want my body back."

"I know you do. Your body is a part of you and you long for it; I won't deny that," Beregond said. "But remember, there are many people out there who _have _bodies, yet they lose their soul and that makes them hardly human." His hand rested on Al's shoulder. "Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Al nodded slightly, the small flickers of light in the place of his eyes flashing brilliantly. And then, before Beregond could realise what was happening, the suit of armour was holding him in a tight embrace.

"Thank you."

In all honesty, Beregond didn't know what to do at first. He registered that his feet didn't touch the floor anymore, which made him realise with some slight uneasiness just how much strength there was in that armour. If Al had wanted to, those same arms could have easily crashed Beregond as if he were a mere doll.

Yet those same arms were now wrapped around him, their tight grip on him reflecting the boy's gratitude.

And so he smiled and kindly returned the embrace just as tightly – though he doubted Alphonse could feel that.

Moments later, however, he remembered himself and he prodded Alphonse to let go of him. "I think we _should_ carry on now, or Edward will turn us both into fish."

That made Al chuckle. He gently put the man down and the two started searching through the drawers once again, their conversation drifting to other, lighter matters.

That, Ed supposed, was also his cue to discreetly step away from the door. He had overheard enough.

------------------

Later that evening, Ed was still working on the basement, when somebody calling him made him turn around. It was Beregond, holding a small tray with slices of apple on it.

"I was hungry and I figured you might be, too. Care to join me?" he asked, smiling a bit.

Ed was certainly surprised at that kind of gesture, nevertheless he welcomed the meal gladly - his stomach had been grumbling its protest for quite some time now. He picked up a slice and started eating. "Thanks," he said through a mouthful.

"You're welcome." Beregond settled on the floor and patted the place beside him, so that Ed would sit down next to him. "Did you find anything of interest here?"

Ed shrugged. "Not much. This place is filled with papers, but most of them have nothing to do with what we're looking for," he admitted. He pondered on Beregond's offer for a second and, deciding to indulge the man, he settled next to him. He picked up another slice. "How about you and Al?" he asked, chewing once again.

"The same," Beregond replied and started eating, too. But then his face lit up as though remembering something, and he instantly wiped his hand on his trousers before diving it into one of his pockets. "I found this though," he added, and handed the photograph to Ed.

Edward looked at the picture, glad that his patience paid off; he had meant to have a look at it ever since he overheard Al and Beregond talk about it.

He couldn't help but smile slightly when he saw himself and Al in it. "We must be really young here. I don't remember when this was taken."

Beregond nodded. "Really young… and quite unburdened," he said, his expression unreadable.

Ed didn't speak at once and, when he did, it was only to say a soft: "Yeah. That, too." He pursed his lips together momentarily before returning the picture to Beregond with a shake of his head.

Beregond didn't say anything either, though Ed could have sworn that there was a strange flicker in the man's eyes as though he was contemplating something. Ed wasn't sure what it was, but he knew he had seen it earlier when Beregond was talking to Alphonse.

Which reminded him…

"By the way, thank you."

"For what?" asked Beregond, not really understanding.

"For treating Al the way he deserves; like a human."

The man smiled. "You two also treated me like a human, welcoming me in your home and offering your help." But then the smile faded, and when Beregond faced Ed again, he was looking quite sincere. "I know I said long ago that I didn't need favours. But, truth be told, I don't think I would have managed to live in this world without your and Alphonse's guidance. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful for what you did for me and I want to help you in your quest in any way I can. Not just because you're my superior or because I'm to follow your orders."

Though taken aback by that kind of statement, Ed instantly shook his head. "That's a path that only Al and I must follow. It's _our_ bodies that we're trying to recover."

"Yet your path has now crossed _mine,_" Beregond insisted."And now both of us have to reach to a decision that, whether we like it or not, will determine the paths that we're _all_ destined to walk. For my part, I believe I was _meant_ to meet you, and I wish to determine why. I can only do that by sticking with you."

"You know I don't believe in such things as fate," said Ed.

"Fate or not, we still met," Beregond said simply. "Hughes told me that I shouldn't be afraid to ask for help when problems present themselves; that you guys would be able to put me back on the right track. Is it wrong of me to offer you the same thing?" He boldly clasped Ed's hand in his. "Ask for my help when problems present themselves and I'll give it more than willingly. I'm not useless; I know you understand that. Please, don't treat me like one."

Ed's eyes widened at those words. And the young alchemist now realised that, in spite of all his efforts to keep a certain distance between him and his object of observation, Beregond still tried to reach out – and still _would_.

Frankly, he didn't know if he should feel dismayed or touched.

"I'll accept your offer," he said in the end. "But not before I set something straight."

Beregond raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "What?"

"I know you're remembering far more than you let on, if not everything. And the others in the military are aware of it, too." Beregond didn't say anything, so Ed went on. "However, Al's been claiming from the start that you are a good man, no matter what secrets you've been withholding. Now I've come to accept it as well, and I think I can speak for the others as well when I'm saying that they don't think ill of you either."

Beregond smiled sadly. "I know. I've seen how every one of you tried to shelter me and I was dearly hoping you wouldn't think wrong of me for not opening up in exchange. Half truths are often worse than lies and, believe me, such kindness from all of you makes it all the more painful to me that I can't tell you the whole truth."

"Why can't you say it?"

Beregond and Ed instantly turned, surprised to hear Al's voice so close to them. The suit of armour was indeed behind them, now stepping out of the shadows.

"Al? How long have you been there?" asked Ed.

"Long enough," answered Al. He sat next to his brother and the man. "Why can't you say it?" he asked Beregond again.

Beregond heaved a sigh. "For the same reason that you don't talk openly about what happened to your bodies."

"We told _you_," argued Al. He placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Don't treat us like useless either."

Beregond didn't have anything to answer to that. Nevertheless, it was clear that he still hesitated.

"Remember Hughes' words, Beregond. Ask for help when problems present themselves," Ed prodded with unusual gentility. For he realised that he was on the verge of victory now; that Beregond would open up at last and reveal his secret, and there was no room for any mistakes.

There was silence again for several moments as Beregond kept contemplating matters. Ed waited with bated breath, mentally urging Beregond to speak.

Until finally…

"All right."

-----------------

"All right; I'll tell you," Beregond repeated, steadying his rapidly beating heart. He looked at both brothers. "But, please, save any of your objections and reactions for _after_ I've finished my tale. For though what I'm about to say will certainly sound strange, preposterous or downright the figment of a lunatic's imagination, I swear to you it's nothing but the truth."

The brothers nodded. And so the Gondorian soldier unravelled his tale, keeping it as simple as possible. After all, he was certain that even in this way, the story would be just too unbelievable.

"I was born in a world much different than yours. A world filled with kings ruling their people justly and knights to protect those very people and their lords. The name of that world can be translated in your language as Middle-earth.

"My part in the history of Middle-earth was to become a knight under my Steward's command and protect the people of Gondor, my country. And, after a most terrible war that changed everything I knew, all I desired was to live in peace, serving my new lord, Faramir, the late Steward's son, in a city known as Emyn Arnen.

"Yet that was a desire that wasn't meant to be granted. Two years after that war, a number of unexplained murders started puzzling and frightening the citizens. The victims were of various ages and there was no connection whatsoever between them, except that they were found in the most secret of places a city could withhold, their throats slit open and terror reflected in their eyes.

"After much search and speculation, the reason behind those murders was finally found. They were used as sacrifices for a most appalling gift: immortality. Such a practice had become common when our world was still at its dawn, through false hopes and foolish pride; yet it was condemned because of the depth of corruption that went along with it. And now there was someone willing to disregard all that in defiance to what a man's destiny should be. The worst surprise of all was that that someone was my lord's advisor, a man named Dûrinas.

"When Faramir and I attempted to proceed with his arrest, however, Dûrinas fled, using my own son as hostage. We found him, of course, and a great struggle took place within that terrible cavern he had made especially for his purposes. In that struggle, my son was killed."

The last words came out so forcefully around the lump that formed treacherously tight within his throat that he felt there was no more air left in him. And he certainly didn't like that wet sensation in his eyes, blurring his vision as he attempted to look at the boys.

"He was a little bit younger than you, Alphonse. I-I think…" his voice hitched, and he had to pause momentarily just so that he _could_ finish his sentence. "I think you two would have made good company."

And with that, the man averted his eyes, almost at the same instant as two droplets of tears landed on the ground.

He never saw the rueful look that the brothers exchanged, the same thought crossing their minds; that the feeling within Beregond's heart was all too familiar. Instead, in a matter of moments, he wiped the rest of the tears off his eyes with a huff and an abrupt movement of his hand, clearly dismayed that he had let his emotions run away with him and actually _cry_ in front of them; took a couple of deep, quaky breaths in an attempt to control himself; and he carried on, his voice sounding toneless and tired.

"The last thing I remember clearly was holding his body in my arms, shouting on the top of my lungs that it should be me; that I would offer myself if he lived. Then there was all-mastering pain as I felt my body like it was torn from limb to limb; I recall as in a dream passing through the Gates of Mandos, the halls the dead keep; and, after that, nothingness. And so I thought that it was over; that I was dead.

"But then I woke up, and all I wanted to do was run. And run I did, until Havoc hit me with the car."

The moment Beregond stopped talking, there was dead silence in the room. The man dared an apprehensive peek at the brothers, torn between relief to have finally got all this out of his chest - and fear as to what their reactions would be.

"You're right, Beregond. It sounds like the most ridiculous story I've ever heard," Ed said in the end.

Beregond's heart sank.

"Even so, I still believe every word of it."

"Me too," declared Al.

"You do?!" exclaimed Beregond incredulously, eyes widening ten-fold.

"Yeah," insisted Ed. "Now everything falls into place."

"It does?!" The man still couldn't believe it.

"Of course!" said Al. "The odd-looking armour, the strange language…"

"The fact no one's heard of you, the weird name…" piped in Ed.

"Your fascination and fear over machines…"

"Your… unique… approach on things…" Ed shuddered.

"I have apologised for that knife more than once," mumbled Beregond, his face becoming crimson with embarrassment.

"Not to mention your ignorance on the geography, history and society of this world," continued Ed, not taking notice of what Beregond said. "What kind of amnesia would that be?"

"In other words," Al said, "you couldn't be anything else _but_ from another world."

"Or a crack-pot," Beregond completed half-heartedly.

Al actually laughed. "A crazy person _never_ admits that."

Ed, however, was sober now. "You aren't crazy. If you were, then that would have to mean that _I_ am, too."

"What are you saying?" Beregond asked, surprised.

Ed's eyes locked on the man's. "I'm saying I've seen the Gate, too."

There was silence once again in the room, and both man and suit of armour looked in disbelief at Edward.

"You've seen it?" faltered Beregond. "You didn't say of that before!"

"And you didn't tell me, either," said Alphonse.

Ed sighed and bowed his head. "We were in too bad of a situation to tell you before, Al. And it didn't matter afterwards."

"It would matter to me," Al said softly, his tone clearly dejected.

Ed's expression saddened and he looked at his brother in regret. "I'm sorry."

Alphonse nodded a bit, though half-heartedly. It was obvious he was trying to understand his brother's reasons for not confiding in him sooner, but it was difficult.

It was then that the brothers noticed something else, almost just as important.

Beregond didn't talk, and his eyes were slightly unfocused as though lost in thought.

"Beregond?"

The answer Ed got was a gentle murmur.

"The Gates work both ways." The voice came out shaken, clearly showing in the state of shock Beregond was in.

"It appears so," was all that Ed said, nodding. "You said it yourself. Gates of Mandos, where the dead linger. That must be where all the souls go; and it must be from where I got Al back."

"Yet I, apparently, _crossed_ the gate, and I'm alive." There was a small pause. "This can't be right, can it?"

There was no answer.

Beregond winced. "So I was… an accident?"

"That seems to be the best logical explanation for the present," said Ed, looking at Beregond. "Are you sure you can't recall anything else from… there?"

"Nothing," Beregond replied at once. "Just the Gates and then I was in an alley."

"But, Ed," said then Al, "What kind of accident could have done this?"

"I think _I_ know," answered Beregond instead. "There was a circle drawn on the floor and I was kneeling on the centre of it when I was taken; a circle with symbols on it."

"An array?" asked Ed.

Beregond nodded.

"Can you remember what it looked like?" Al asked.

This time, the Gondorian shook his head. "It was too long ago." He looked first at Al, then at Ed. "But still, how could I have made it work? I only learnt the ways of Alchemy through you."

"Then how could you complete an array without any help? And you managed to grasp the alchemic theories we've been teaching you in several weeks, when it took us months and years," wondered Al.

"The Gate," said Ed. "When I reached it, it felt as though a great deal of information was forced into my head and I suddenly could understand a lot of things about Alchemy." He faced Beregond. "That's what must have happened to you, even though you didn't realise it back then."

"That still doesn't explain what happened _before_ I passed the Gates," said Beregond thoughtfully. "I mean, Alchemy exists in a form in my world, too; that much I can understand. But the only thing I knew about it was to fear it and condemn it as a corrupt art."

No one spoke for a while.

"Beregond," Al said then, "perhaps you wanted to return your son so badly that the circle was triggered anyway."

The man looked at Al, puzzled.

"Think about it. The transmutation circles are only the _means_ to accomplish the alchemic reaction. But the real force behind Alchemy is the strength and will of the alchemist himself. That's what separates a good alchemist from a bad one."

Ed smiled, understanding what was his brother saying. "You're right, Al. And Beregond has shown his strength more than enough times."

Beregond only saddened. "I don't feel strong. I couldn't save my son from death."

"That doesn't mean anything. _We _couldn't save Mother," argued Ed. "But you are strong, don't doubt that. And what has happened to you has only made you stronger." He placed a flesh arm on Beregond's shoulder. "Trust us on it. _We_ know."

"But…"

"Look at it this way," Ed interrupted. "If I had any doubts about your strength in so many aspects of your character, I'd _never_ have considered accepting your offer to help."

"You mean you don't have any doubts?" asked Beregond, surprised.

"None whatsoever. Do you, Al?"

"Nope," answered Al. One could almost sense the grin that was in the armour's face.

"Then it's settled!" declared Ed and extended his hand to Beregond. "We're in this together, all of us. You'll help us on our quest for the philosopher's stone, and we'll help you find your way home."

Beregond's eyes widened. "You mean--?"

Ed grinned. "If something gets in, it must be able to get out also. And an alchemist's duty is to fix any wrong."

Beregond stared at the brothers for many long moments; then, for the first time in a long time, a broad smile brightened his features and placed his hand on Ed's.

"So be it. We'll fix both wrongs."

"Right!" Al said enthusiastically, and placed his own metal hand over the other two flesh ones, thus sealing the agreement.

--------------

At the sound of a door knocking, Colonel Mustang turned away from the window and gave out his standard command: "Enter!"

He was certainly surprised to see Edward coming in, followed by Beregond and Al.

"Back so soon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Disappointed?" asked Ed sarcastically.

"That would depend on the reason of your return," said Roy, smirking. "So… do you have anything worthwhile to report?"

"Sir?" said then Beregond, stepping forward and standing in attention. "It is _I_ who wish to report. It concerns my identity and the truth I've been hiding from you and the others."

Roy immediately straightened up, his bored expression replaced with an eager one.

"Indeed? You may proceed, Sergeant."

-----------------

Far away, on the East side of the country, there was the fair city of Liore. A city that was graced with prosperity and harmony for many years, though it was a prosperity and harmony gained through the deceit of an over-ambitious man and a little trinket wrapped in his ring finger. Of course, being unaware of it, the citizens simply accepted Father Cornello as the saviour of their city, and praised him and the god that supposedly sent the holy man to them.

That is, until a young alchemist and a huge bulk of armour exposed Father Cornello for what he was: a fraud.

Since that day, everything had changed in Liore for the worst. The citizens were torn between those who were still blindly loyal to Cornello for giving them hope when there was none; and those that wished nothing more than revenge the man that had conned them so shamelessly, for they had realised that that kind of hope was false.

That in itself resulted to a crumbling cascade from which there was no turning back. It began with the exchanged words of accusation, only to be followed by the first fists landing on some people's faces, to end up in a massive fight that destroyed everything and everyone. And when the military was sent to try and drown the riot that was threatening a peace that was gained after too much sacrifice during the Ishbal War, the fair city of Liore was replaced with a pitiable sight of ruin and blood.

"Foolish, aren't they? Humans are so foolish."

Those words were said by a woman standing at the balcony of the massive temple built in honour of Cornello's Sun God. And as she saw the catastrophe that was unveiled before her violet eyes, there was nothing but satisfaction reflected in her features.

"Foolish, foolish," agreed a short man with large arms and beady eyes, who stood beside the woman and watched on with an almost childlike look on his face.

It was then that Father Cornello stepped out of the shadows, an almost demonic smile tugging his lips. "When things proceed this smoothly, their foolishness is rather refreshing."

Surprisingly enough, Lust was far from alarmed. She simply turned and smiled, too. "Why, hello there, Head priest, sir."

Cornello walked up to the balcony as well and looked outside too, seeing the massacre and desolation. "No matter how many times they repeat it, they never learn from their mistakes. Humans are _really _sad, foolish creatures," he declared with a chuckle. "Now I can finally return to my cute form."

Suddenly, light surrounded the form of Father Cornello and, when it vanished, there was no old man. In his place there was an androgynous-like person; his lithe form clad in black; and his hair, which had a strange greenish hue, fell in unruly strands down his back.

Lust raised an eyebrow. "That again? You sure like to look young."

But Envy just shrugged. "I don't have a choice, do I? I've forgotten what my original form looked like."

"What's going on here?!"

At the sound of that incredulous voice, the three turned and saw that a bewildered man was staring at them.

"What's going on here? Where's the head priest? Where's the _real_ head priest?" the man demanded, angrily.

Lust straightened herself, and looked at Envy. "What shall we do?"

Envy contemplated matters for a moment. "I suppose we _can _say that the head priest is already…"

However, Gluttony, who had remained silent all this time, offered his own solution.

"Can I eat him?"

That was a solution welcomed. And so, not thinking twice about it and letting Gluttony have his way with the man, Envy and Lust leaned over the railing once more.

"Now that you mention it, I've just received information about that guy. He left Central and is headed for East City."

"You mean that State Alchemist killer?" Lust asked. "That is interesting. In East City there's the Flame Colonel and…"

"The Fullmetal kid right now," Envy completed.

Lust actually frowned. "That child is the closest person to our goal. We can't let anything happen to him."

"Lust, I'm done eating!" Gluttony cried all of sudden, waving a bloody hand at the woman's direction.

"Wipe your mouth, Gluttony," she replied in a motherly fashion before turning back to Envy. "So what do they call him?"

"A simple enough name: Scar."

TBC…

_A/n: This chapter establishes the timeline in the original FMA story. From now on, a lot of scenes will be heavily – and I mean very heavily - influenced by both the 2003 FMA anime and the manga._

_Four more chapters to go…_


	15. Dr Marcoh

_A/N: As noted in the previous chapter, the crossover will now follow closely the FMA story. Many scenes will be heavily influenced by the manga and the 2003 anime._

There were hardly any people in that small bar close to Eastern Headquarters where Roy and Maes were now enjoying a quiet drink. That was no surprise to either of them though. It was quite early, and the afternoon sun was still shining brightly in spite of the dimness of the place inside.

It also served as a place of privacy so they could talk without unfriendly ears overhearing them.

"Scar?" asked Roy, mystified. "A man with a scar?"

Maes nodded. "We don't have his true identity yet," he replied. "There are eyewitnesses who say he has a big scar on his forehead, so we call him that."

Roy took another sip of his brandy thoughtfully. "Is he the guy who killed the State Alchemists in Central City?"

"Yeah. Four in Central City alone and nine in the entire country. And if we include the poor bastards who were around the victims, the count easily surpasses twenty." Maes sipped his bourbon, his green eyes not reflecting the cheeriness for which he was known among the other soldiers. "Victims were found with wounds that indicated that they were detonated from the inside. His weapons and motives are unknown. That's why the people in Central Headquarters got scared."

"So they've come here on vacation and are saying they're here to escort the Führer as excuse," Roy concluded with a grim smile. "As though the killer won't come chasing them here."

"You're here as well," Maes pointed out. "The ones who gave you the demotion three years ago know about your skilled abilities."

Roy's smile became even grimmer, if that were possible. "I'm starting to want to run away as well."

Maes chuckled wryly, sharing his friend's dry humour; but he sobered once more. "The problem is his next target."

But Roy never got the chance to hear what Maes had to say because, at that moment, the barmaid approached Maes. All the bespectacled man could do as he watched the woman approach him was blush embarrassedly and say: "I'm sorry, but I have a cute daughter who's going to turn four soon…"

The barmaid just smiled. "That's nice to know, I'm sure; but I've got a phone call for you." And with that, she handed the receiver to Maes and went back to her work.

Roy tried to hide a grin. "Sorry, Maes."

Maes turned a glare at him that clearly meant 'smart ass', before answering on the phone – trying not to mind Roy's stifled laughter.

"Hello, this is Hughes."

Suddenly, all of Roy's mirth died down to be replaced by puzzlement at seeing Maes frowning and tensing.

"What… Major? I understand." And with no other word, Maes put down the receiver and stood up. "They found a soldier's dead body at East City station."

Roy took another, final sip of his drink before standing up as well. "Was he destroyed from the inside?" he asked.

Maes's nod gave him the answer, confirming his suspicions.



The outskirts of the East City were quiet, none aware of the horrors that took place on a station close by. In fact, the only thing that seemed to be of some interest to any citizens that happened to be around was the sight of a young boy with a red overcoat, followed by a tall dark-haired man and a huge bulk of armour.

Beregond looked around. "Dr. Marcoh picked a good spot to retire. Not too isolated, but peaceful enough to keep the nosy parkers away," he noted.

Al nodded. "It's a bit like home." He patted the man on the shoulder and pointed on his left. "See those hills over there? That's what Resembool's countryside looks like."

Beregond couldn't help but smile. "Sounds like a nice place to live in."

"It is."

Ed, meanwhile, tried not to listen to his companions' conversation and only focused on finding anyone willing to tell him the whereabouts of Dr. Marcoh.

"Dr. Marcoh?" echoed a worker, wiping sweat off his forehead in a puzzled manner.

"You mean Dr. Mauro?" ventured a young boy next to the worker.

"No, Marcoh," insisted Ed.

The worker blinked. "But there's only one doctor in this village; Dr. Mauro. Right over there." And with that, he pointed further ahead to what could only have been the direction to Dr. Mauro's house.

"Thanks," said Ed, trying not to hide his disappointment, and walked on.

Al's eyes flickered, telling of the boy's confusion as he turned to face his older brother. "I don't understand. The Colonel said that Dr. Marcoh would be here, right?"

"I know," said Ed, frustrated. "I'm afraid the Colonel's information was old this time."

"I'm not so sure of that," Beregond said then thoughtfully. "Mauro sounds too much like Marcoh, don't you think?"

Ed frowned, taking in what the Gondorian said. "Yeah… I guess we _can_ ask about Dr. Mauro while we're at it."

Just then, Ed spotted three middle-aged men sitting on stools near the town's outer wall. He asked them politely about the presence of a doctor in this area, and the men were more than happy to tell him everything they knew.

"As you can see, the people living near this road are poor. It'd take us half a day to get to a doctor in East City," one of the men explained, squinting his eyes behind thick glasses.

That was hardly helpful for the three companions, however, and so they continued asking around. Yet the answers they would receive from everyone were no different. The people only knew Dr. Mauro – and he was everything they could ask for.

"He's a good man," said an elderly woman. "He even sees the patients who were abandoned by other doctors."

"When my leg got caught up in a tractor and it looked like I was a goner, he fixed it up just like new!" a farmer said.

"And when he was healing, I thought there was this bright red flash and then it was already healed!" piped in a young girl, seconded by an older woman who nodded enthusiastically.

The boys and Beregond nodded their thanks for the villagers' help and started walking away again. It was only when they were out of hearing range that Beregond ventured to ask the question that formed in his mind.

"A light?"

"It was alchemy," Ed said. "This person is Dr. Marcoh, all right."

"But he's running away from the military, right? Why would he become a doctor at the risk of rumours about him spreading?" said Al thoughtfully.

He never got an answer to his question, because it was then that, for no apparent reason, Ed suddenly tensed up.

"Hide!" he cried, tackling Al into a nearby pile of hay.

Beregond was startled at such an alarm, nevertheless he decided he had to trust Ed on this; so he followed suit obediently. Al, meanwhile, tried to pop his head out of the hay, but Ed dragged him down again.

"That was mean," Al said, fidgeting. "Straws are coming in."

"Quiet," was all that Ed hissed.

"Edward, why are we--?" But the answer to Beregond's question came in sight in the form of a large, bulky man, in a black overcoat, looking at his surroundings.

"Who's that?" Al wondered, watching as the man removed his military cap to reveal his baldness but for a small blond curl on the front of his head.

"He's one of the State Alchemists who came from Central City with the Führer," Ed said, his eyes widening in recognition.

"That makes matters interesting enough. I _don't_ see a Führer with him," Beregond noted.

"Why is he here? Did he follow us?" Al asked.

"Looks like it," Ed said. "The Colonel said that he didn't report Marcoh's location to the military."

"He certainly seems anxious to find something," Beregond whispered.

Whatever it was that the State Alchemist tried to find, he wasn't able to locate it, for he soon placed his cap back on his head and vanished to the direction that the boys and Beregond were originally heading. Ed was about to step out, but Beregond stopped him.

"One can't be too careful," was the only explanation the Gondorian offered as he got out of the haystack first, his senses pricked up at the sign of anything out of the ordinary. It was only after he was certain that everything was clear again that he made a small signal for Ed and Al to come out too.

When they did however, Beregond couldn't help but burst out laughing. Both brothers had hay sticking from the oddest of places, making them seem like infant Ents.

"Oh, go ahead and laugh," Ed said indignantly, brushing off any hay that stuck stubbornly on his clothes. "You're not looking all that better yourself, you know."

"I'm sure I'm not," said Beregond, finally suppressing his amusement, and he started pulling away the pieces of hay off him as well.

Once they were all, more or less, presentable once again, Ed hurried down the road, beckoning the others to follow him. "Let's go. Marcoh's house should be near."

But Beregond just shook his head. "You guys go ahead and find him. I'll catch up with you at the station at sunset."

"What are you going to do?" asked Al, surprised.

"I'll follow our stalker."

Ed actually frowned at this. "Beregond, I don't think this is a good idea," he said.

"We need to know what he's after," reasoned the Gondorian.

"We already _know _what he's after!"

"Then I'll just have to make sure that he stays away, at least long enough till you have your talk with Dr. Marcoh," said Beregond. "It will be easier for you to do that without having the fear of the door bursting open and a dozen soldiers coming in."

"Brother, he has a point."

Ed thought about it for a few more moments before facing Beregond again. "All right. But be careful. You've seen the size of that guy."

"I once fought against a Troll. You should have seen _its_ size," said Beregond with a grin, winking. And with that, he hurried away to the direction the soldier had taken, leaving Ed and Al somewhat perplexed as to what a Troll was and whether or not they would really care to find out. In the end, they just shrugged off the comment and started looking for Dr. Marcoh's house once again.



When the brothers finally found Dr. Marcoh, a part of them wished they _hadn't,_ for the welcome they received was a couple of bullets that barely missed Edward.

"Hey, now, we just…"

But the grey-haired, almost panic-stricken man still held Ed at gunpoint with both hands. "You said you're a State Alchemist? Did you come to take me back there?" he asked, shaken.

Al dared a peek from behind Ed. Suit of armour or not, he still didn't want to have guns pointed at him. "Um, you're the Crystal Alchemist, Dr. Marcoh, right?" he ventured at last.

Dr. Marcoh breathed in sharply, and his grip on his gun only tightened. "I don't want to go back there. Please," he pleaded desperately.

"What are you talking about?!" exclaimed Ed, his arms raised and his palms facing upwards in a gesture of peace. "We just came to ask you a few things."

"Please, that's dangerous," said then Al nervously, motioning for the doctor to put the gun away.

Dr. Marcoh, however, was now beside himself with panic. "Did you come to get rid of me?" A film of sweat started pouring down his face. "I won't let you kill me. I… I…"

Finally, Al decided that this wouldn't do. Having confidence in his invulnerability once again, he arose to his full height and slowly approached Dr. Marcoh.

"It's okay," he soothed. He looked at the gun on which the doctor still held on frantically. "I won't die." And with another step, he brought his armoured chest in contact with the barrel of the gun.

That undid Dr. Marcoh at last. No longer able to hold up the gun, he dropped his arms to his sides. "I see. So you're the Fullmetal Alchemist."

"No," Ed said, coming at the side of his brother. "_I _am. Me."



The Alchemist stopped in his tracks again, making Beregond glue himself against the shadows an alley provided so he wouldn't be noticed. And as Beregond kept the Alchemist within his sight, he noticed how the burly man was becoming almost frantic in his search. The Gondorian should feel relieved at this, seeing that the Alchemist really lost track of him and the Elric brothers, but he couldn't. Something was wrong, Beregond knew that much, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Finally, it dawned on him.

That man never even attempted to come in contact with fellow soldiers. Not even when a military car - a Brigadier General's, judging by the insignia on its plates - passed by him. The Alchemist simply hid behind a wall.

_That_ was certainly odd, and Beregond had only one logical explanation for it. That the Alchemist was working in something that the military wasn't aware of and, not only that, but it was also meant to be kept that way. The question was, what? And, more importantly, _who_ ordered the Alchemist into this?

_Well, there's only one way to find out._

Moving with the slowness and stealth comparable to a large cat ready to pounce at an unsuspecting prey, Beregond watched on until finally the Alchemist headed for a telephone box, obviously wishing to make a phone call. Seizing the opportunity, he picked up a small pipe that he spotted abandoned on the ground and placed an end of it on the back of the man.

"Military. Keep your eyes forward and put your hands where I can see them. Slowly," he said, lowering his voice an octave.

The Alchemist did just that, though he was clearly quite dismayed but this turn of events. "I'm Major Louis Armstrong. You're currently interfering with military business. Please put your gun away."

"Really?" said Beregond, feigning sarcasm and hoping his act was good enough. "Well, Major, this must be quite the secret business if _I'm _not to be informed personally from Headquarters. Do you know how many people became nervous seeing you around here and sent complaints in my direction?" He clicked his tongue several times in disapproval.

"And who might you be, sir?" Armstrong said, trying to look back.

A nudge from a metallic point made him reconsider.

"I said: keep your eyes forward!" threatened Beregond. "As to who _I_ am…" The Gondorian thought fast, but, unfortunately, he could only come up with only one name. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Faramir, and thisarea is under _my_ jurisdiction."

Armstrong tensed; Beregond could see that only too clearly. "I've never heard of a Lieutenant Colonel Faramir before."

Beregond faked a chuckle. "I've never heard of a Major Louis Armstrong before, so that makes us even. Now," at that his tone became serious once again, "we can still carry on with the pleasantries, if you like, or _you_ can just tell me nicely what business brings you here. The sooner you speak and I find your explanation satisfactory, the sooner I'll let you go."

There was silence for many long moments, something that made Beregond more than a little nervous.

_Come on, just say it…_

"I can't tell you, Lieutenant Colonel."

Beregond gritted his teeth. "Then I _order_ you, Major."

That finally did it. Armstrong started talking, though reluctantly.

"There's a serial murderer on the loose. His main victims are all State Alchemists, though he doesn't hesitate to kill even those who stand on the way of his targets. Currently, he's been circulating in this area where a certain Edward Elric, or else known as the Fullmetal Alchemist, is also. I was asked by Lieutenant Colonel Hughes to keep an eye on the boy and his brother so they would stay out of danger."

Beregond's eyes widened at this. There had clearly been a terrible misunderstanding.

"I was under the impression the Elric brothers already _had_ an escort; a sergeant."

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes feared Sergeant Beregond wouldn't be able to deal with the murderer. No one knows what weapons he uses and Sergeant Beregond would be caught by surprise."

"Caught by surprise? No," Beregond said quietly, his voice back to its normal pitch. "Suspecting the wrong person? Yes."

Major Armstrong turned around at once and saw a crestfallen Beregond, hanging his head in shame. The sound of a heavy clank made the major turn to the direction of the metal pipe as it fell from the sergeant's hands. That showed him what was it he was threatened with, and instantly everything fell into place.

"Clever," he noted with a small smile.

"Stupid," corrected Beregond with a shake of his head. "Edward and Alphonse are vulnerable now."

"You were doing your duty and no one can blame you for it under the circumstances," said Armstrong kindly. "But now we have more pressing matters to attend to. Do you know of the Elrics' whereabouts?"

"I can do more than that; I can take you to them," answered the Gondorian. "And I fear we must hurry."

"How so?"

"You said that person kills State Alchemists, isn't it so, Sir?" asked Beregond, dragging Armstrong with him as he hurried down the road.

"I did," said Armstrong.

"Then there's danger that he might claim one more victim while he's at it."



The room in which Dr. Marcoh took the Elric brothers wasn't all that much furnished. There was just a bookcase filled with bottles and jars (others empty and others full); a single bed; a surgical tray with medical equipment on it; and a large table. It was around there that the elderly man and the brothers now sat, so that Dr. Marcoh could tell his story.

"I ran from the battlefield and stole the research data I had," Marcoh said, explaining his nervousness. "Because of that, the military might still be after me."

Ed and Al sat up a bit, seeing that they were now within reach of what they had been looking for, for almost three years. "We're doing research on human transmutation and…" Edward said.

"I can't show you anything," Marcoh answered, his voice abrupt and edgy. He bowed his head in regret. "Although I was ordered to do it, I was involved in the research of the philosopher's stone and that, in turn, was used in the massacre during the East Rebellion." His memories clearly catching up with him, Dr. Marcoh buried his face in his hands.

"Massacre? Do you mean the rebellion of Ishbal?" asked Ed.

"It was horrible," answered Marcoh. "A really terrible battle. Women, children, everyone was killed without any reason. The Ishbalans opposed the military and that was enough." He lifted his gaze, a sad expression reflected in his eyes. "I cannot atone for what I did, not even with my life; but I still wanted to do something. That's why I'm a doctor here." He stared at Ed and Al for many long moments before shaking his head with regret. "Go home."

Ed clenched his hands into fists as he felt anger sweeping through him at being denied. "I am a State Alchemist; I have a right to see your research!" he said, slamming his hands on the table.

Marcoh closed his eyes. "You're very small…" _That_ made Ed even angrier and Al had to do his best to hold his brother into place, but Marcoh didn't take notice. "You probably took the test because of the abundant research funds and the numerous privileges." He sighed. "If you'd been at the scene of that rebellion…"

"I know I'm doing something stupid!" cried Ed. "Still…"

But Marcoh only looked away, clearly showing that he didn't want to discuss this any further.

"Dr. Marcoh," said then Al, "you treated some babies in Xenotime five years ago, didn't you? One of those babies is now healthy."

That made the man falter, something that instantly caught Ed's attention. And when he saw where Dr. Marcoh's eyes drifted for just a brief moment, he had got the answer he wanted. The young alchemist ran to the wall the elderly man looked at and, after knocking on it to hear the hollow sound, he clapped his hands and formed a hole on the wall.

Dr. Marcoh got up at once, shocked. "You did that without a transmutation circle?!"

But Edward didn't pay attention to the doctor anymore. He merely picked one of the three bottles that were inside a small box and looked at the clear red liquid inside.

"Stop that!" cried Dr. Marcoh, alarmed.

"Brother!" Al quickly grabbed his brother from behind and lifted him away from the box. "Brother, you shouldn't do that!"

"Let me go!" cried Edward, kicking in his attempt to escape.

"Brother!"

"I said let go of me!"

It was then that it happened. In his struggle, Ed accidentally dropped the phial he was holding and it shattered on the floor. It wasn't that that made the brothers stare in awe and wonder though. It was the way the liquid solidified to become a small red stone.

Eyes locked on the stone, both brothers slowly they knelt over it and examined it with light fingers.

"It's not liquid," noted Edward.

"Brother, this looks like the thing the head priest at Liore had."

Suddenly the door burst open and a soldier came in, rifle drawn, followed by an imposing man with a moustache, clearly a higher-ranking officer. He cast a brief glance at the boys and Marcoh; then at the small stone that was still on the floor.

"The Philosopher's Stone," he noted. "The Astral Stone, Elixir, the Red Tincture, and the Fifth Element. As the various names imply, it doesn't necessarily have to be a stone." He went up to the stone and picked it up, not paying attention to Dr. Marcoh, who was trembling in fear.

"Brigadier General Grand," said Edward, recognising the man at once. So there was more than one military man following them. Beregond's plan didn't work well enough.

"Brigadier General?" echoed Dr. Marcoh. "You've received many promotions, I see," he added bitterly.

Grand turned, seeming finally to acknowledge the doctor's presence. "The Crystal Alchemist. Hand over the Philosopher's Stone and its research data."

Ed and Al froze, as everything finally made sense. Brigadier General was holding in his hand the very thing they had been asking Dr. Marcoh about.

"Are you telling me that you knew about this all along?!" Ed cried, glaring Grand.

"This was created as an experiment of the devil," Grand said, towering over Ed. "We do not know when it will reach its limit and become unusable. It's unstable, incomplete and far from the real thing. But it amplified our abilities during the rebellion and showed a tremendous effect."

Ed stared Grand in the eyes. "So you went for the next best thing. You realised that there can be no such thing as a real Philosopher's Stone."

"It's true that this red gem is incomplete. Still, it was created by human hands, which means it's possible to create the Philosopher's Stone," Grand replied.

Ed felt his heart missing a beat at this. "Where's the method to create it?"

Grand glared at the blond. "And what are you going to do after you see it, Fullmetal Alchemist? The research is top secret and under my jurisdiction. You do not have permission to read the data." He turned to his men. "Let's go."

At the Brigadier General's command, two soldiers grabbed Dr. Marcoh by his arms and they didn't let go, no matter how hard the terrified man struggled against them. They didn't seem to take notice of the crowd that had formed just outside Dr. Marcoh's house to see what was going on, and they weren't kind in their treatment to the doctor as they still manhandled him into Grand's car.

"No, please, release me! I don't want to go back there! I don't want to go back! I'm sick of that place! I don't want to!"

Yet all Dr. Marcoh's pleas were futile. In a matter of moments, he was inside Grand's car; and all anyone could do was watch on, trying to apply reason to such a madness, to understand why the man that had come so suddenly in their lives and had given them so much, had to be taken away just as suddenly, taking all hope with him.

Ed clenched his hands into fists, knowing in his heart that he couldn't allow that to happen to the people that depended on the man. Before Al could stop him, he had sprinted down the stairs of Dr. Marcoh's home and after the car, desperately trying to reach it and stop it at all costs.

It was in that moment that he saw a large man, standing frozen in the middle of the road though the car was coming toward him. And the next thing Ed knew, a red flash of light came out of the man's hand and, as the hand slammed down on the hood of the car, the vehicle broke down with a great explosion.

TBC…


	16. Destruction's Right Hand

The deafening sound of the explosion was followed almost immediately afterwards by the sound of coughing, because of the dust the Brigadier General and Dr. Marcoh had unwillingly swallowed as they crashed on the ground. But other than that, neither of the men was harmed.

They were certainly more fortunate than the lower-ranking officers who were at the front seats and so took the greatest damage, getting killed instantly.

That hardly seemed to trouble the dark-skinned man, though it was true that any expression in his features was hidden behind black glasses. He simply walked up to Brigadier General Grand with determination and purpose.

"The Iron Blood Alchemist, Basque Grand," he said simply.

Grand arose, locking his gaze on the stranger that now blocked his way.

"Your timing is too bad; just as I got my hands on this!" And with that, Grand reached for his pocket.

Ed felt his heart jumping. He knew he had seen that strange man before, that odd scar on the forehead wasn't a thing to be forgotten so easily. But he was also somehow aware what was going to happen next and it wouldn't be a pretty sight.

"Stop!" he shouted.

He was too late. Scar had already placed his right hand on Grand's face, another blinding flash of red light emanating from his arm.

Grand's death was quick, but ugly. Blood spurted from almost every part of his body, staining everything before Grand himself fell lifeless in a heap on the ground. The red stone that he was holding onto in the clear hopes of using it slipped off his fingers and rolled away, only to stop at Ed's feet.

Edward never saw it. He had remained staring at the man, shocked and confused. He didn't even try to move when the scarred man turned his gaze at him, his piercing look petrifying even through his black glasses. Ed's mind screamed at him to run as fast and far as his legs would carry him but it was hopeless; his limbs had gone numb and cold, refusing to listen.

However, it wasn't Edward that Scar was interested in for the present. The dark-skinned man had shifted his gaze and looked at Dr. Marcoh, who was still on his knees, fear coursing through his veins as he returned the gaze.

"The Crystal Alchemist, Dr. Marcoh. I heard you were dead," noted Scar, mild surprise evident in his voice. "It looks like I'll have to kill you thoroughly," he stated, raising his bloodstained hand.

Marcoh's eyes widened. "You're…" But he didn't continue, the words failing him. He merely bowed his head in defeat. "I must accept my fate then."

Scar only bothered to regard his prey with a stoic look before his hand reached for Marcoh's forehead. "In the name of God, die."

But his hand never touched the doctor. At that moment, Edward lunged forward and grabbed Marcoh by the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him away.

"Edward…" Marcoh started, but Ed proved faster.

"Don't give up like that! Run!" And with no other word, the young alchemist dragged the doctor along with him as fast as he could.

Scar seemed surprised that his hand didn't destroy anything this time; yet it was the name the doctor said that clearly made the greatest impression on him.

"The Fullmetal Alchemist?!" He looked at the direction the boy had taken off, Marcoh still with him. "I won't let you get away!" He shouted, and started running after them.

Those words made Edward worry considerably. Not only did that psychopath know of him, he was determined to kill him!

"Brother, this way!" said the most welcome voice in the world at this time. Ed turned the corner off the main road to find Al.

His little brother was prepared. The moment Ed and Dr. Marcoh were at Al's side, the suit of armour activated an array that he had drawn in the meantime to create a great stonewall between them and their pursuer, hoping in this way to end the chase. It would seem that Al's plan had worked, but at the next instant, red light engulfed the wall and crumbled it to the ground.

Scar was standing behind the very wall, his arm outstretched and glowing.

_Damn it!_ Edward thought. He started running again, followed by Al, who was now carrying Dr. Marcoh in his arms.

It was to no avail. Proving faster once again, Scar placed his hand on one of the walls of the tunnel. The moment his arm glowed, the walls crumbled, blocking the way of the brothers.

Ed and Al stopped on their tracks at once, realising they were now trapped. In spite of their dire situation, though, Edward wasn't a coward; he turned to face Scar.

"Who are you? Why are you after us?" he asked, eyes flashing his defiance.

Scar just took a few steps towards them. "If you are the ones who create, then there are the ones who destroy."

"Edward, leave me here and run!" cried Marcoh, getting back on his feet.

Edward just clapped his hands and reached for a pipe among the debris, transmuting it into a dagger. Following his example, Al placed himself in a defensive position, ready to fight.

Scar regarded the brothers for a few moments before locking his gaze on Ed again. What he saw in Ed's eyes, Ed couldn't really tell. Whatever it was, it was enough to make the man say: "You have good eyes, just like my older brother; strong eyes that looked like they were gazing off into the distance."

Ed didn't say anything, unsure as to what to answer to that.

"Three years ago, was it?" Scar continued. "I heard you quit being a State Alchemist and I was pleased by that."

Edward smirked this time. "Sorry to hear it." And with that, the young alchemist lunged for the attack, slashing through the air with his dagger.

Scar simply avoided all the hits with the grace of a cat.

"You're too slow," he commented almost contemptuously. And with that, his hand got ready to grab Edward.

"Brother!"

Ed was pushed away the moment that red light covered everything. It was when the light subsided and Edward looked up, however, that the young alchemist understood what happened. When he saw Al's arm cracked and dented.

Alphonse had taken the hit for his older brother.

"Al!" Ed cried in concern.

"I'm fine!" the suit of armour replied.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I was trying to destroy human flesh, that's why you got away with just _that_," Scar said, facing the suit of armour. "Stay out of this. Only State Alchemists are my enemies."

"Why? Why us?" exclaimed Ed.

"Because they are the ones who transform objects into things that are a mockery of God's creations. That's blasphemy that must be punished. I'm God's representative and executioner."

No one noticed that Dr. Marcoh now was staring at Scar, flabbergasted.

"I'm an alchemist as well," Alphonse said then, "Even though I'm not a State Alchemist."

Scar looked hard at Al. "Why do you seek death?"

"I don't. But you mentioned that you had an older brother, didn't you?" answered the suit of armour. "Then _you_ should understand why I can't just sit by and watch my brother getting killed. Even _you _should--"

"I do!" snapped Scar. "I understand what it feels like to have your brother murdered before your eyes, when you can't do a thing!" Alphonse gasped, taken aback by this revelation, but Scar didn't seem to heed him anymore. "That's why I…"

He never completed his sentence, because it was then that Ed found the opportunity and attacked again. That also proved one of Ed's worst mistakes, because Scar grabbed the boy's arm in the blink of an eye.

"I told you you're too slow," stated the man, and his arm shone again. The force used on Ed was such that the boy was almost thrown to the other end of the tunnel.

But other than that, Edward wasn't harmed. Only the sleeve of his trench coat was torn apart. And for once in his life, the boy was glad he had automail; for it was _that_ arm Scar had caught.

"Automail," said Scar, clearly surprised. "So your right arm begets nothing but destruction also."

That made Edward more than just angry. "Don't you start with that! We're nothing alike!" Clapping his hands again, he transmuted his arm into a blade and got ready to attack again.

He never did. Another explosion shook the tunnel and the debris were sent into Scar's direction; the same debris that had been blocking the brothers and Dr. Marcoh's escape.

Dumbfounded, Ed and Al turned to see what could have caused this - only to see in front of them a familiar figure.

"The State Alchemist?" exclaimed Ed. Things were really turning from bad to worse!

Al immediately took a defensive position against the newcomer. "Did you come to capture Dr. Marcoh?"

"Alphonse, wait! It's okay!"

That proved another surprise for Ed and Al, far more pleasant this time.

"Beregond?!" both brothers exclaimed.

Truly enough, the Gondorian appeared from behind Armstrong. "Yes." He pointed at his companion. "This is Major Alex Armstrong. He knew about Scar and that was why he was following us."

Armstrong settled a heavy hand on Ed's shoulder. "I was asked by the Lieutenant Colonel to guard you, but…"

"What? You mean Hughes?!"

Armstrong nodded, a small smile crossing his features. Soon he had sobered again, and he turned to Beregond's direction.

"Sergeant Beregond, you know what your duty is."

The Gondorian nodded his acknowledgment. He prodded Ed and Al to follow him down the tunnel. "Let's go."

Scar tried to lunge forward to stop his prey from leaving, but Armstrong stood in front of him, his metallic gloved hands clenched into fists.

"Representative of God… Try to execute me, the Strong Arm Alchemist, Alex Louis Armstrong."

If Scar was daunted, he never showed it. He merely smiled. "I'm blessed today. This saves me the time of finding you all."

"I don't think your God will save you from the artistic alchemy method that has been passed down through the Armstrong family for generations!" said the major. The pride that swelled within him at the mere mention of his bloodline made him seem almost like he was surrounded by a bright sparkly aura.

At the next moment, as though strengthened by that strange mantra, he held up a huge rock in one hand and tossed it in the air. In a matter of seconds, he had driven a spiked fist into the rock in midair. Yellow light burst out and once the alchemic reaction was complete, the rock was formed into a rocky missile, heading at Scar's direction.

Scar avoided the missile just barely. And he had little time to recover before Armstrong used his alchemy to raise spikes on the ground to pin the murderer.

-------------------

Dr. Marcoh stumbled and collapsed on the soft foliage the little group had reached after much running. Ed stood by him, trying to catch his breath; whereas Alphonse stopped also, cradling his cracked arm. As for Beregond, he kept staring with bated breath at the direction where he knew a great fight was going on.

"How did you find us?"

Beregond instantly turned to Ed. "What?"

"We were for the most part moving around, trying to avoid Scar. How did you find us?"

A ghost of a sad smile appeared on Beregond's lips. "I'm good at tracking down things. Besides, it wasn't that difficult for me or Armstrong to follow a trail of blood and debris."

"So you've seen… _that?_" Al asked; his appalled tone was audible.

Beregond sighed, clearly understanding that Al was referring to the soldiers' dead bodies. "Yes." He shook his head at once. "We'd better keep moving," he told Edward.

Edward nodded his understanding; but he knew that there was something else he had to do first. He held the red stone between metal fingers, and gave it to Dr. Marcoh. "You dropped it."

Dr. Marcoh was certainly surprised. "Didn't the idea of running away with this cross your mind?"

"You use that to treat injuries at your clinic, right?" said Ed, smiling. "I can't forget the faces of the people who talked about you today. Both that stone and you belong to them."

Marcoh held Ed under his gaze for several moments, uncertain; until he finally grasped the stone and drew it closer to his chest.

Puzzled by that scene, Beregond looked curiously at Al with an expression that clearly said: _How much did I miss, anyway?_

Stifling a chuckle, Alphonse merely patted the man on the shoulder. "I'll tell you later," he whispered.

Ed straightened himself. "Can you walk?" Ed then asked Dr. Marcoh.

The doctor nodded weakly.

"Then let's go to where the military and that guy can't chase us."

At those words, Marcoh cast a worried glance at Beregond's direction. It was obvious what was going on in his mind, since Beregond was wearing his military uniform.

Seeing this, Ed shook his head. "You can trust the sergeant," he said. "He's… let's just say, something different." He grinned at the Gondorian, whose face turned crimson in embarrassment.

Though Dr. Marcoh wasn't quite reassured, he had clearly decided to trust the three. "Will we be able to escape?"

"You still have legs, don't you?"

That was enough answer. And so, they all started running once again.

TBC...


	17. In The Rain

_A/n: Please, read the chapter carefully. There are several foreshadowing moments in it._

_--------------------_

The clerk at the train station lifted her gaze to look at the dark-haired man before her. "Can I help you?"

"Yes. Four single tickets to Xenotime, please."

"Here you go, sir. The train leaves in an hour."

"Thank you. From which platform?" said then Beregond, placing the money on the counter.

"Platform 4. Have a nice trip, sir."

Beregond nodded his thanks and walked away to find the Elric brothers and Dr. Marcoh. They were in a small alley, waiting for the return of the Gondorian.

"Did you get the tickets?" asked Edward, anxiously.

"Yes. But I'm afraid we'll have to wait for an hour or so for the train to leave."

Edward huffed in dismay. "Well, it can't be helped, I guess. Let's hope that we won't be discovered in the meantime."

"Or get caught in the rain," said Beregond, looking up at the sky.

The rest looked up as well, surprised. "I don't see all that many clouds," said Al.

"It's going to rain," insisted Beregond. "I smell it in the air."

Had it been any other man who said this, Edward would have just laughed. But, being aware of Beregond's primeval connection to nature, he decided it would be best not to doubt the Gondorian's words; so, in a few moments, all four were sitting under a shelter, waiting patiently for the hour to pass by.

It was Beregond who spoke first, out of the blue as it seemed. "By the way, I'm sorry." There was sadness reflected in his eyes as he looked at Ed and Al.

The brothers stared at Beregond incredulously. "What for?" asked Ed.

Beregond heaved a sigh. "The way those soldiers died… It could have been you, and I wouldn't have been there. Armstrong was understanding, saying that I was trying to protect you when I went after him, no matter how erroneous my assumptions were. But still, the best way to protect somebody is to stay with him. That's why I'm your escort." There was a small pause. "I neglected that, so I'm sorry."

Edward shook his head. "You've seen what that guy is capable of. If you had been with us, _you_ might have been killed."

"The Ishbalan would have killed all of us. And he _will_ see to it that he does."

It was Dr. Marcoh who said that, his gaze locked on the ground.

The brothers and Beregond remained staring at the doctor for many long moments, surprised.

_Ishbalan?_ Beregond mouthed at Ed, who nodded, clearly showing to the Gondorian that they had talked about this. Beregond's expression changed to understanding. "So what brings him so far away from his land?"

"You should know," said Marcoh, finally looking at the Gondorian. "You look old enough to have been there."

Beregond blinked. "In Ishbal?"

Marcoh frowned, not expecting that answer. "Of course."

The Gondorian shuffled his legs nervously. "No, I wasn't. I'm not from these parts."

Marcoh certainly didn't expect that answer either. "I see."

Thankfully, Ed intervened. "Dr. Marcoh, I think it would be best if you told the story from the beginning. That way the sergeant can understand what's at stake and we might try to figure out what Scar wants from you."

Marcoh bowed his head. "I'm not sure if I…"

"Sir, please," said Beregond. "I need to know if I'm to protect them and you."

Marcoh locked his gaze on Beregond for many long moments. "Strange. There is a young soul behind your eyes; an almost innocent one. Like someone else's that I knew long ago." He sighed. "Then war aged him far more than his actual years."

"I've seen war and I hated every minute of it," said Beregond. "Yet our fight was just and there was no room for regrets or guilt."

"We also believed that our fight was just," noted Dr. Marcoh. "Yet in the end there was much room for regret and guilt." And sighing again, he started his tale.

"The Ishbalans were a people in the East Area who worshipped their absolute one god of creation. But due to differences in religious values, there were frequent conflicts repeated between the two countries. Thirteen years ago, when an officer shot an Ishbalan child by accident, an enormous civil war erupted. Riot brought about riot, and before anyone knew, the flames of the rebellion spread throughout all the East Area. An operation was ordered by the military after seven years of offensive and defensive warfare to deploy the State Alchemists as well in the Ishbal annihilation campaign. The intent was probably to test out their practical usage on the battlefield. Many practitioners were dispatched as human weapons."

Beregond paled considerably and looked at Edward. "So alchemists were no longer protectors of the people. By becoming part of the army, they had to betray their own principles."

Al silently bowed his head, whereas Ed clenched his jaw. That was enough answer. Then Ed turned to Dr. Marcoh, eyeing him curiously. "That's no reason for him to come after you."

"But there is. Just like the real Philosopher's Stone, the red stones I created can amplify an alchemist's abilities tenfold. The alchemists that fought during Ishbal had to wear those so that the damage they could do would certify not only the red stones' effectiveness, but the Ishbalans' utter destruction also."

Beregond bit his lower lip at this. However, Al and Ed exchanged a glance, the same thought occurring to them: that Colonel Mustang had fought in Ishbal also, and that meant _he_ most probably used the red stones too.

"And now this Scar wants revenge from the man who brought this upon his country. What could be more legitimate?" ended the doctor sorrowfully.

"He's still dragging people into it that had nothing to do with it! How can you talk about legitimacy?" exclaimed Edward, appalled. "He's a fraud! He's on a tirade of personal vengeance and he hides behind this excuse of God's will so he can claim it's noble!"

"Still, if someone took you away from me, Brother, I think I might do the same thing. Isn't that equivalent exchange?" Al asked then, finally speaking his mind.

Ed's eyes widened at this. "No! That's not how the principle works, haven't you learned that yet?!" he cried in exasperation. "Destroying lives doesn't bring lives back! We all just have to live and be content while we can!"

Al didn't say anything this time. He just stood still, cradling his hurt arm. Ed sighed and walked up to him.

"Come here," he said, his tone soft and gentle. And at the next moment, he clapped his hands and placed them on Al's arm, so fixing it.

Meanwhile, Beregond faced Dr. Marcoh, who was looking at the scene thoughtfully.

"He's right, you know. If a god wishes to destroy the world he's created, he doesn't need messengers or representatives to do it for him. And by murdering, Scar is no better than the very people he loathes."

"Yet what choice does he have, if there's nothing for him to hope for?" asked Marcoh. "When any chance for a life was taken from him?"

"There's always a choice. _That's_ what a true god can really offer in the end." Beregond motioned his head at the brothers. "They know that. That's why they're fighting to get a new chance in life instead of being consumed by bitterness and hatred for this world." His gaze became harder. "That's why they came to you. Will you deny them?"

Dr. Marcoh stared at the Gondorian. "I understand what you ask of me… yet I don't understand why you wish to help them. The Fullmetal Alchemist is a vital asset to the military."

Beregond didn't answer at once. "For a number of reasons. Just know that we all three made a promise to help each other. And I intend to hold to my word, like I know _they _will."

Just then, the brothers came to them again. No words were exchanged anymore, since everyone was lost in his own thoughts.

It was then that Edward noticed it. Beregond was wringing his hands in restlessness.

"What is it?"

"If the Major had managed to stop Scar, don't you think he would have shown up by now?" asked Beregond.

Al straightened his body, realising that too. "What if he--?" But he didn't complete his question.

Edward thought about it for a few moments. "Then there's no choice; we'll have to separate. Dr. Marcoh, take the train to Xenotime. Beregond, stay with him and make sure he's safe."

Beregond tensed. "What about you two?"

Ed didn't answer; yet his silence spoke louder than any word of his would.

"Edward…"

"I'm not making a _request_, Sergeant."

That clearly hurt Beregond. "With all due respect, Sir, that's unfair."

"Noted," Edward said. "Now go."

Sighing, Beregond saluted slightly; then clasped Dr. Marcoh by the shoulder. "Come, Doctor."

And in a matter of moments, both men had disappeared around the corner.

It was then that Ed felt Al's gaze on him – as well as his little brother's question.

"Somebody must protect Marcoh," he said simply.

"Is that the only reason you sent Beregond away?" Al asked.

Ed just shook his head. "You saw what Scar did to the Brigadier General. Beregond wouldn't stand a chance."

"And do we, Brother?"

Ed didn't speak for a moment. "We have to."

A booming sound resonated in the atmosphere, slightly startling the two brothers. But it was only after registering the pattering sound of the droplets hitting Al's armour that the boys understood that the rain had finally started to fall. The brothers looked up, surprised.

"What do you know! Beregond was right," noted Al.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Ed's lips as the rain only became stronger. "Yeah, he was."

And then the brothers saw it: Scar, standing in the middle of the road. They knew what they had to do now, even though neither of them wanted to meet their fate in this way. Ed transmuted his hand into a blade, and Al placed himself into a fighting position again.

"You have courage," Scar commented. "But that won't be enough."

Edward and Alphonse didn't say a word; they just lunged for the attack.

They didn't see Scar's arm glowing again until it was too late. And at the next instant, Al's leg and a big chunk of his torso had disintegrated to smithereens.

Yet the clanking sound of the armour landing on the ground was never heard; because another, far more heart-wrenching sound pierced the air.

"AL!" Tears of fury sprang up in the Ed's eyes, and he lunged blindly at Scar. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

It was to no good. Scar simply grabbed Ed's automail again, forcing him to hold still.

"Without this sinful arm you can't transmute quickly. _That_ is your weakness." His arm glowed again and the automail was destroyed, making the most horrible of sounds.

"BROTHER!" Al screamed out, watching Edward fall on his knees. He gripped on the ground furiously with his hands in his attempt to crawl himself there if need be, but it was useless. "No, brother, get up and run! Get out of here!"

Scar simply towered over Ed, seeing his victory at hand. "I'll give you a moment to pray."

"Thanks for the gesture, but I don't believe. Stopped a long time ago," Ed said defiantly through gritted teeth. He looked at Scar. "Back in the tunnel, you told me you lost your older brother. Died in Ishbal, right?"

If Scar was surprised at this, he never showed it. "Correct, Fullmetal. He was killed by a State Alchemist."

"Well, _I'm_ the oldest brother. So take _my_ life and go. That's an equivalent exchange, don't you think?"

"No! What are you talking about, Brother?!" exclaimed Al, dumbfounded. "You just said yourself a life doesn't equal a life!"

"You stay out of this, Al! I'm only doing what's fair!" Ed shouted back indignantly before facing Scar again. "He's not a State Alchemist, I should be enough!"

Scar nodded. "I promise before God, I won't hurt your brother. But you should listen to him, Fullmetal. Your life for another is not a fair exchange. There's nothing in this world that can equal the loss of my brother and my people! Nothing will make it easier to bear!"

"Really? Then why are you murdering all these people?" Ed asked.

But Scar didn't answer this time. He simply placed his palm on Ed's head.

"Brother! What are you doing?! Get away from him!" shouted Al, horror-stricken. "Brother, run! GET UP AND RUN!"

Yet it was in vain. It was as though Ed had gone deaf to all his brother's pleas. Al's fingers trembled as he cursed his own inability to do anything.

"I don't want this," he murmured, the rain providing the tears he wished to shed so much; then grief and terror seized him again and there was only one way to let it out.

"NOOOOOO!"

It was then that it happened. Suddenly, Scar's arm let out an eerie red glow. Yet it wasn't Scar's doing, because the Ishbalan was startled and grabbed his arm as though in pain.

Shocked, Ed turned around… and saw what caused it.

"Dr. Marcoh?!"

It was indeed the Crystal Alchemist, now approaching slowly with his arm outstretched, the red stone shining in his hand.

Ed's shock instantly turned to indignation. _What is he thinking?! _"Don't you have any sense? You should be long gone by now!"

And then, just as suddenly, the thought occurred to him. If Dr. Marcoh was here, then Beregond…

He quickly turned. His eyes just caught in time the Gondorian's form lunging at Scar, tackling him forcefully to the ground and then springing up back to his feet before Scar could touch him.

Scar arose just as quickly, his eyes throwing daggers at the man. "You have just become an obstacle to my goal."

"Edward? Alphonse? Are you hurt?" Dr. Marcoh asked, rushing to the brothers. He placed his arms around Ed's shoulders. "Get up!"

Ed hardly heeded him though. His eyes were widened and locked on the image of the Ishbalan and the Gondorian; and, to his dismay, he now realised Beregond chose a path from which there was no turning back.

"Be careful of his arm!"

Beregond didn't say anything. He simply nodded his acknowledgement at Ed's advice; then held up with both hands a chain as weapon, his eyes locked on the Ishbalan's and welcoming the fight that was to come. The moment Scar lunged, Beregond dodged to his left, and turned instantly to attempt a hit with his chain on Scar's back. Scar proved quicker and used his right arm to block the hit. The chain made a couple of turns on Scar's arm and tangled itself there.

It was then that, to Ed's surprise, Beregond _clapped,_ thus using Alchemy consciously for the first time in his life. When the light of the alchemic reaction had subsided, the chain had changed to a metallic control stick around Scar's wrist.

"Another State Alchemist?!" the Ishbalan exclaimed. Hatred consuming him, Scar tried to get his hands on Beregond, but the control stick kept him at bay.

_That's it, _Ed thought as he watched Beregond planting his legs firmly on the ground, holding on as Scar kept struggling. _Don't let him near you. Don't make my mistake._Yet he knew that this would only work temporarily, and something in Beregond's expression as he kept struggling told Ed that the Gondorian was aware of it, too.

"Edward! We have to go! He won't last!" Marcoh's words reached his ears as though from far away – yet they still had the power to make him understand something very important.

Beregond was merely buying time; time for him, Al and Marcoh to escape.

"No!"Ed tried to get up and help; but Marcoh held him back, trying to protect him. And so all he could do was watch on, hoping for some sort of miracle.

All his hopes shattered when Scar grabbed the control stick with his left arm and used it as leverage to push Beregond against the wall; when the scream that cut through the air reached his ears and sent a chill to his heart.

"Beregond!"

Scar backed away, pulling the control stick with him. Blood sprouted from the Gondorian's side and soon both the wall and the ground were stained red. Moments later, Beregond fell on his knees with a groan, clutching the wound.

In spite of his obvious advantage, Scar didn't go for the kill instantly. He simply towered over Beregond, watching him curiously. "Who are you?"

"What's it to you?" Beregond asked angrily, yet Ed felt sick at seeing the horrible grimacing look at the man's face; the man was in _pain._

"Leave him out of this, Scar!" the young alchemist shouted. "It's me you want!"

"From the moment he interfered, he chose his death." He turned again to Beregond, who was in the meantime doing his best to push himself back onto his feet, using the wall behind him as support – and failing. "I thought I knew all the State Alchemists. Yet this is the first time that I hear of a State Alchemist bearing _that_ name." He leaned to examine Beregond's features meticulously, especially his eyes. "Who are you?"

The Gondorian didn't speak for many long moments; until finally, after casting a brief, kind glance to Edward, he locked his gaze on Scar. "Not a State Alchemist. Something different."

Scar's expression hardened. "That's not an answer."

"You're right," Beregond said, chuckling grimly. "You do have my name though. And _that's _the _only_ answer."

Scar nodded, his eyes reflecting nothing but cold.

"Very well. Now die." And with that, Scar's head rested against Beregond's forehead.

_No! _Ed gritted his teeth and released himself from Marcoh's grip, determined to fight even if he had to use just one arm and his legs.

Everything came to a standstill at the sound of a gun being fired.

"That's as far as you go."

Everyone turned to see Colonel Roy Mustang, still holding his gun as he fired, accompanied by Hawkeye and Havoc, both armed as well.

"That was a close call, Fullmetal," Roy said to Ed, as kindly as his military position and the circumstances allowed.

"Colonel!" Ed cried, actually gladdened to see Roy. "This guy is…"

"That man is a suspect for the serial murders of State Alchemists," interrupted Roy. He looked at the boys, Dr. Marcoh, and lastly at Beregond. "But there is no doubt about it after taking a look at the present situation." He aimed his gun at Scar. "Step away from the sergeant."

Scar curled his lip in distaste, yet he stepped away, if only to address the Colonel.

"As the messenger of God, I am he to carry out God's judgement. And if you interfere, I will eliminate you, too, just like him." And he pointed at Beregond.

Roy raised an eyebrow at this. "Interesting…" With a graceful movement of his hand, he tossed his gun to a surprised Riza. "Don't lay a finger on him," he told her as she caught the weapon.

"Colonel Mustang!" she said. It was clear that she didn't like what Roy had in mind.

That certainly caught Scar's attention. "Mustang? As in the State Alchemist?"

Roy smirked as he put on his gloves. "Indeed. Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. If you wish to fight someone, fight with me!"

Scar narrowed his eyes. "So be it." And with that he lunged forward, his hand extended for the kill.

"Col--!" With a swift swing of her leg, Riza kicked Roy off his feet, making him fall. And it was not a moment too soon, for Scar's hand had got only inches away from grabbing Roy's head and do its vile work. Without losing a heartbeat, she then emptied the barrels of both her guns on Scar. She didn't manage a hit, but at least she managed to keep Scar at a safe distance.

"What are you doing all of a sudden?!" Roy exclaimed, dumbfounded at such audacity.

Riza refilled her guns calmly. "You're useless in the rain; so, please, stay back, Colonel."

All colour vanished from Roy's face. "USELESS?!"

Havoc blinked his realisation and looked up. "Oh, yeah. When it's as wet as this, you can't make a spark!"

Roy bowed his head, still muttering the same word, as though not believing he had actually heard it. "Useless?!"

Now it was Scar's turn to smirk. "And in addition to you coming here, it's nice how you can't use your flame," the Ishbalan stated in a matter-of-factly manner. "I can annihilate everyone here!"

"Then try to! You escaped from me once, fiend, but you won't escape twice!"

Edward and Beregond looked up at once as they recognised that voice. Sure enough, Armstrong was behind Scar and had aimed one of his fists at him.

Scar immediately jumped before Armstrong's fist made contact. "Reinforcements," he noted, mildly surprised.

"Major! Please, don't destroy too much of the city!" cried Havoc. Indeed, Armstrong's fist had made a nasty hole on the building.

"What did you say?" asked Armstrong, incredulously. "Behind destruction, there lies creation. Behind creation, there lies destruction! Destruction and creation are two sides of the same coin! Destroy and create! For this is the law of the universe!"

Such a speech had clearly made Armstrong's chest swell – yet again - with too much pride, because his sparkly aura shone brightly once more and his shirt got ripped off, revealing the huge muscles underneath. That made everyone around feel a little more than just awkward.

"Why are you using such powerful Alchemy?" Riza asked then, her eyes still locked on the large hole on the wall.

Armstrong flexed his arms. "As an alchemist you wouldn't think it was too powerful. Isn't that right, Scar?"

Everyone's awkwardness was instantly replaced with shock.

"An alchemist? You mean he's also an alchemist?!" said Roy, hardly believing his ears.

Edward watched the fight, shaking his head. "I thought so. If you break them up, the three major parts of transmutation are knowledge, deconstruction and recreation."

Roy looked as Armstrong created another missile from the ground and Scar destroyed it. "So that guy is stopping transmutation by using the second part: deconstruction."

Ed nodded. "The question is: How long is this supposed to last? And who will prove stronger?"

Meanwhile, Armstrong kept attacking Scar, who was retreating steadily, trying to find any opening in the Major's defence. Little by little, the Ishbalan was almost a step away from the wall and he would soon be cornered. And it was in that moment that Armstrong made an opening. Scar got ready to seize his chance.

He never did. Before the Ishbalan had the chance to make contact, Armstrong had stepped back. And Scar soon found out why.

Beregond, now standing after much effort, had taken hold of the control stick that was still clinging stubbornly on Scar's wrist and clapped again. In an instant, the control stick had transmuted into a lance, its iron point piercing Scar's arm through and through. Scar immediately let out an exclamation of pain and kicked Beregond away from him, sending him almost flying.

Beregond landed a couple of feet away with a sickening thud, and he remained there, not moving.

"Damn it!" Roy exclaimed. "Havoc, get him out of there!"

At this, Havoc immediately threw his rifle at Riza. "Cover me!"

Complying, Riza caught the rifle and fired; while Havoc, accompanied by two more men, rushed to Beregond's side. The Gondorian's eyes were closed and his face wan as he still bled profusely. Cursing loudly at this turn of events, Havoc placed his handkerchief on Beregond's wound in the wild hopes of stopping the bleeding somehow; then he and his men lifted the unconscious man and got him to safety.

"Is he--?" Ed tried to ask, worriedly.

"He's alive," Havoc said at once. He quickly turned to one of the men. "Call for an ambulance! Now!"

"Wait!"

It was Dr. Marcoh who said that. "The hospital is too far away. I can treat him, but we'll have to take him to my house!"

"Good enough," said Roy, overhearing the conversation. "Go!"

Nodding their acknowledgement, a couple of men picked up Beregond and placed him in one of the cars, whereas Dr. Marcoh accompanied them.

Just then, Riza fired again and blood fell from Scar's face.

"Did you get him?" asked Roy.

Riza shook her head. "He's still fast, in spite of his injury. That shot only grazed him."

Sure enough, but for a gash near his temple, Scar was otherwise unharmed by any bullet. He looked again at each and everyone.

There was military everywhere, and more soldiers were coming.

"I see that I'm at a disadvantage against this many opponents," he said. He lifted his arm, red with his own blood, making everyone nervous enough to take aim.

"Hold it!" commanded Roy immediately; then locked his gaze on Scar. "You don't actually think you can get away when you're surrounded, do you?"

Scar just smiled and placed his palm on the ground. In the blink of an eye, a huge hole opened underneath his feet and, before anyone could do anything, the Ishbalan was gone through the hole.

"The classic sewer escape," commented Havoc wryly, looking at the hole.

"Don't follow him," ordered Roy.

"Damn it! I was just about to jump in," was Havoc's next sarcastic comment.

"Nice mess! Is it over yet?" This came from Maes, who was now coming from around the corner.

Mustang glared at the newcomer. "You know, you could try to help while you were here, Hughes."

"Lay off! I'm as normal as they come and this is a contest of freaks! What would you have me do? Fire my slingshot at him?" Before he got any answer to that, Maes turned to his men, and started giving instructions as to where to place blockades.

Suddenly, a cry filled with terror echoed in the air. "AL!"

The suit of armour was sitting up against the wall, not stirring as the rain fell on it mercilessly. It didn't move even when Edward desperately asked it to speak.

"Say something, Al! Are you still with me?" Edward could feel his voice cracking at the burden of his agony, but he didn't care. The mere thought that his brother could be…

But then Al finally spoke. In fact, he did more than that. He clenched his hand into a fist and punched Ed – hard.

"You idiot!"

To say that Edward was shocked at the attack would be an understatement. "What was that for?!"

"Why didn't you run away when I told you to?"

"Because he could have killed you, that's why!" cried Ed indignantly.

"So you decided to die instead? That's really smart!" declared Al in one of his rare moments of sarcasm.

"Don't call your older brother an idiot, idiot!" shouted Ed, feeling that, if he had both arms, this would have been a good chance to _beat_ some sense into his brother.

Al, on the other hand, _had_ both his arms, so he put them into good use. He grabbed Ed by the collar, bringing their faces so close that they almost touched.

"That's _not_ how we do things! Live and be content while we can! Live to research more alchemy, so one day we can get our bodies back! _That_ is how we do things, Brother! Dying, and dying by yourself and leaving me on my own? That's something I won't let you do!"

A thunderous clank made both brothers freeze and look down.

"Oh, this is perfect!" Al exclaimed. "Now my arm's fallen off too! Today's been a terrible day!"

Edward took a look at himself, then at his brother. "We're really falling apart at the scene, aren't we? Everyone who sees us must think we're a joke."

"But we're alive, right?" asked Al.

"Yeah… We're that, Al." And Ed finally allowed himself a small, tired smile. He barely felt the softness of the jacket that Riza placed on his shoulders.

Neither brother noticed Armstrong and Mustang watching them.

"A hollow suit of armour," commented the Major, clearly impressed. "I've never seen a soul transmutation that actually worked."

"Yeah, Ed went through hell and back to make that possible. That's what makes the bond between them even stronger than it already was."

Just then, they heard Alphonse talking to Havoc, who was supporting him as they were going to the car. "Is Beregond going to be okay? He looked pretty bad…" he was saying worriedly.

Ed looked at Roy as he passed him by. "You know something, Colonel? I think I begin to understand a bit how _you_ feel when _I_ pull stunts the way Beregond did today," he said resignedly, and he followed Havoc and Al once again.

Armstrong didn't speak for a moment. "There's someone else who's started forming a bond with them."

Roy allowed himself to smile a bit. "I was hoping he would. But I never expected Beregond to be so fierce a guardian. He even got his motivation to finally use Alchemy." There was a small pause. "I suppose the loss of his son might have something to do with it."

"What son?" asked Maes. He had overheard the conversation as he came up to them.

Roy smirked. "I'll tell you all later. Let's see if Beregond pulls through first."

**To Be Concluded...**


	18. Till We Meet Again

Major Armstrong and Edward walked up to Dr. Marcoh's house, saluting the two soldiers that were standing guard by the doorstep. They walked in, knowing that the doctor was expecting them.

Dr. Marcoh came out of the only other room that was in the house, and nodded when he saw who came in.

"You arrived in time," he said. "I've just finished."

"How's the sergeant, Dr. Marcoh?" asked Armstrong.

"I've managed to stop the bleeding, so you can now take him to the hospital whenever you want. I advise you to be careful on how you handle him, though. He's already lost too much blood and he's quite weakened."

"Will he be okay?" Ed asked then.

"Yes," Marcoh said. "It will take some time, but he will be."

"Can I see him?"

Dr. Marcoh thought about it for a few moments. "I've left him sleeping, since he needs all the rest he can get; but I think one small glimpse will be fine."

"Thank you," said Ed. He turned to Armstrong. "Will you come, too, Major?"

"I'll stay here," said the major. "I'll arrange for Sergeant Beregond's transportation to the hospital."

Ed nodded his acknowledgement, and then followed Dr. Marcoh to the room. He winced to see Beregond's pale face and the bandages on him and, before realising it, he let his only hand push back a strand of dark hair that was clinging on the Gondorian's face.

"You just had to disobey, didn't you?" he murmured. "If you weren't in this mess, I'd slap you senseless after what you did." He turned to Dr. Marcoh. "What I don't understand is why you followed him."

Dr. Marcoh smiled grimly. "I'm afraid, Edward, that it wasn't a matter of who followed whom. We both agreed we should turn back."

Ed's eyes widened. "Why?"

"Because, like someone told me not too long ago, there's always a choice. And, as he chose to see to your protection above all else, I chose not to judge those that need my help." He handed Ed a piece of paper. "This is the place where the research files are hidden. Look at this if you won't regret knowing the truth. And if you are what they say, you'll uncover the truth behind the truth."

Ed took the paper, nodding slightly. "Thank you."

"Just make sure no one knows about it, not even Colonel Mustang. He can't protect me forever and I don't want him involved in this."

"You know him?" asked Ed, unable to help himself.

"I knew him long ago, when he had the same innocent soul that the sergeant has. That is, until he was deployed as a human weapon; then ordered to kill two doctors because they treated Ishbalans."

Ed stared at Marcoh, dumbstruck. _Two doctors?!_ No, it couldn't be!

_Winry's parents?!_

Marcoh just shook his head. "No, I've said too much." He walked to the window and opened it. "I had better not be found here when they come for the sergeant. I pray that you'll restore your bodies one day."

And with that he left, leaving Ed alone with his thoughts and Beregond. He didn't say a word when Armstrong came with a stretcher and a couple of men to carry Beregond, or during the entire way to the hospital. In fact, he was lost in thought for the most part, and he was only cut off of his musings when he finally arrived at Colonel Mustang's office, still accompanied by Armstrong.

The place was crowded, that was for certain. Besides the colonel himself, there was also Hughes, Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Falman and Fuery, and they were all working on a strange bundle in the centre of the room. Ed turned and saw Al on the couch, his side bandaged to hide the gaping hole in it.

"Well, glad you could join us, Fullmetal," said Mustang. "Please, have a seat." He motioned his hand and showed the place next to Al. Ed sat there obediently.

"Are you okay, Al?" he whispered.

"I've been better," Al said. "How's Beregond?"

"He's at the hospital now and the doctors are already taking good care of him," answered Ed. "He's still unconscious though."

"Oh…" There was a sad tone in Al's voice.

Ed nudged his brother. "Don't worry. Beregond's tough. He's even fought against trolls, remember?" He looked at the bundle, where two pieces of armour resembling an arm and a leg were notably sticking out. "Do you have every piece?" he asked the other people present in the room.

Fuery nodded. "It took us a couple of hours, but we have them."

"That Scar guy sure did a nasty job," said Havoc, lighting a cigarette.

"Actually, I hate to think what he did to the less fortunate ones," Breda said, dismayed. "Look at all the alchemists he managed to kill."

"And _almost_ killed," said Falman. "Sergeant Beregond is a braver man than I thought."

"And, to top everything else, Scar is _also_ an alchemist," pointed out Havoc. "So isn't he the one defying god, just like he said before?"

"The sort of people who don't care how things are done are the most dangerous… and the scariest ones," Hughes said then.

"That's why we can't worry about how things are done," announced Roy, finally speaking also. "We can't die yet. So the next time we meet him, we take him out."

Everyone nodded their heads, acknowledging what Roy had just ordered them.

Just then, Hughes stretched in a bored manner. "Anyhow, here ends this boring topic." He looked at Ed and Al. "Now we need to patch you guys up."

Armstrong instantly flexed his arms, tearing his shirt off in the process, and turned to Al. "Shall I fix you?"

"No, thank you!" exclaimed Al, trying to hide his panic and failing miserably.

Roy shook his head. "Bonding a soul to steel is no walk in the park. Fullmetal is the only one who can fix Al now. Go ahead; ask him."

Everyone turned to Ed, something that made the young alchemist quite uncomfortable.

"That's right. It's my burden," he finally said. "But before I do anything, I need to get my other arm back."

Riza rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Well, that _is_ an interesting fix, isn't it? I mean, if Edward can't use his alchemy…"

"He's just a useless teen with a grumpy ass attitude," Havoc completed grimly, smoke from his cigarette coming out of his lips.

Ed didn't speak for many long moments. He wanted to be angry at the taunting, but he was aware that Riza and Havoc were right. "Anyway, I have to take some leave now. I'm going back to my mechanic." He turned a cool gaze at Roy. "You know the one, don't you?" _After all, you killed her parents._

Roy smirked, quite unaware of Ed's thoughts. "Sure, Ed, how could I forget? I saw you in her house, unconscious, with that same stump of an arm you have now, bawling in your sleep: 'It hurts! I'm gonna pee my pants!'" He instantly stopped his overly dramatic gestures and looked hard at his subordinate. "So tough…"

Hughes gave a slight glare at Roy; his friend had really gone too far this time. "So where are you gonna go once you're fixed?" he asked then.

"Central. I've got something to look up in the library there," said Ed at once.

Maes frowned. "That's a heck of a trip. You'll need some protection."

Ed smiled in a sour manner. "Beregond can't exactly come with me and Al in his condition."

"I know, I know," said Maes, sighing. "I would volunteer but… well, since the Führer is going straight to Central and I'm part of his escort, I can't go." He looked at Roy.

Roy shook his head. "I can't leave Headquarters."

"And I've got to look after the Colonel," said Hawkeye at once. Though left unsaid, it was clear that she wanted to make sure Roy didn't ditch work.

Havoc shrugged his shoulders. "You could send me, but I don't know how much help I'd be up against a fanatical alchemist serial killer."

"Same goes for me! What he said!" were the unanimous answers from Breda, Falman and Fuery.

"That settles it!" boomed Armstrong, seeming to shine more than ever. "Send me! I'll protect the boys on their quest for repairs and investigation!"

Ed felt like revolting. Accepting Beregond as an escort was one thing; the Gondorian had practically been living with him and Al ever since he got in Amestris and an understanding had formed between them – especially ever since Beregond told them the truth about his identity. On the other hand, he didn't know Armstrong. That made the Major unpredictable and so he couldn't handle him!

"We don't need another escort!" he declared indignantly.

"Really, Ed? And what are you planning to do if Scar shows up while you're missing that arm?" reasoned Riza.

"Can't fight… Can't exactly carry your hobbled brother to safety either…" said Havoc.

Ed turned to Al, hoping that his brother would say something. But Alphonse just chuckled sheepishly.

"Children should listen to adults!" said Armstrong, patting Ed's head.

Okay, _that_ was too much! "You can't call us children!" cried Ed. "Al, won't you stick up for us here?"

"That's the first time anyone has treated me like a kid ever since I've been in this armour!" Al cried out happily at Armstrong. "Thank you!"

"The train leaves soon, Edward Elric. We'd better go pack our bags."

Ed hanged his head in defeat. It was hopeless to fight back the inevitable. "Can I at least go see Beregond first?" he asked.

Roy nodded. "All right, but you'll have to be quick about it, if you're to catch that train."

----------------------

"We'll be waiting here, young Elric. Don't take too long," said Armstrong, still carrying a crate with Al inside on his shoulder.

"Yeah, okay," was all that Ed said as he went up the stairs to the hospital. He saluted the two soldiers and then went inside.

It seemed Beregond was still sleeping; his eyes were closed.

Ed couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed at this and, since there was nothing he could do about it, he started walking out again.

"Edward?"

Ed winced at how weak and hoarse Beregond sounded. But he tried not to pay attention to that when he faced the Gondorian.

"I, uh… thought you were sleeping. I didn't want to disturb you," he offered as an explanation, and sat once again on the chair close to Beregond's bed. "How are you feeling?"

Beregond sighed. "Like I was trampled on by a pack of stampeding oliphaunts."

_Oliphaunts?_ "You mean elephants," corrected Ed.

A chuckle escaped the man's lips, only to be instantly replaced by a wince. He was hurting, that was for certain. "No, I mean 'oliphaunts'. Trust me, there's a huge difference… and several tons heavier." He looked at his surroundings. "How did I get here?"

"You were brought here after Dr. Marcoh treated you, using one of his red stones."

Beregond frowned. "Like the one he used against Scar?"

"Yeah."

Beregond hummed his acknowledgement. "Now I understand why Marcoh was so important."

"That about sums it up," Ed said with a slight nod. Again his eyes drifted to the bandages that covered the man's torso. "Mind you, that power has its limits. Marcoh told me that, though he closed your wound, there was nothing he could do about the blood loss you suffered. You still have to stay here."

Beregond chuckled again. "I kind of noticed that," he stated in a matter-of-factly manner. At the next instant, he had locked his gaze on Ed worriedly.

"Was Marcoh arrested?"

Ed immediately shook his head. "No, he left before anyone could touch him. As for the others, they were ordered by Mustang to keep Dr. Marcoh's whereabouts classified. And as for the rest of the army is concerned, there was only one doctor in that village: Dr. Mauro." Ed glanced to the piece of paper he was still holding. "Before leaving, he gave me this." He held it up for Beregond to see. "It's the place where he hid his notes. He didn't want to show it to me at first but, apparently, something you told him made him change his mind."

Beregond smiled. "Well, it's nice to see that something good came out of this mess."

Edward couldn't help but smile, too. "Yeah." A small awkward silence followed as Ed caught himself unsure as to how to proceed next; until finally a sigh escaped his lips.

"You could have been killed," he said slowly.

Beregond nodded. "I know. But I am who I am. I've already told Scar so."

Ed blinked, not really understanding. "When?"

"When he asked who I am," Beregond explained.

"You didn't answer him. You just stuck to your name," Ed said, confused.

"A name is truly the only answer to such a question," the Gondorian answered, grinning. "In your tongue, my name means, literally, 'Protector of Stone' – or, more figuratively, 'Steadfast Protector.'"

Ed's eyes widened. "You're kidding!" he faltered incredulously.

Beregond's grin broadened. "No. It's not my fault if Scar doesn't know my language to understand what I said."

Ed still looked at Beregond for several moments, unable to speak; then shook his head, a small smile appearing on his lips. "You know, you really live up to your name."

"I try," Beregond said, chuckling a bit. Yet at the next moment, his expression became quite serious. "And I'll keep living up to it if it means sticking to my promise to you."

Ed felt like his jaw just dropped on the floor at that. Beregond was actually telling him that…?

_Stupid Gondorian…_ Ed instantly crossed his arms in an indignant manner.

"Then you realise that you _will_ get yourself killed with that kind of attitude."

"The way you've been protecting Alphonse, I see my chances are almost as good as yours. And we're both still here," Beregond said, adding an almost comical 'so there' look on his features.

That undid Ed. In fact, _that_ made him laugh.

Damn it, it seemed Beregond had found a way to make him _not _stay angry with him.

It was then that Ed remembered himself. Looking at his watch, he realised that he couldn't postpone what he meant to say in the first place when he got here.

"Look, Beregond, I…" he started, sobering.

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

Ed nodded before he could help it. How did Beregond know?

Beregond grinned, clearly seeing through Edward's thoughts, and pointed at the suitcase by the door. "So how long will you be gone?"

Ed sighed ruefully. "I don't know."

A somewhat melancholic expression settled on the Gondorian's features. "And you can't afford to wait for me," he said. Ed tried to apologise and explain, but Beregond stopped him. "No, I understand. I just wish I could be with you. Who's escorting you this time?"

"Major Armstrong."

"He's a good man," Beregond said thoughtfully. "He'll guard you well."

"He put Al in a crate!" Ed exclaimed.

Beregond blinked. "Okay, not the best thing to do. But it could be worse."

"He's planning to have him placed as luggage!"

Beregond actually winced. "Fine, but it could _still_ be worse." But it was clear that the Gondorian didn't really believe that. Ed kicked an invisible stone on the floor and put his only hand in his pocket.

"And he's old, too. What am I supposed to do with him?"

"If you managed to put up with _this_ old man, you'll be just fine," answered Beregond, smiling in a teasing manner. "Really, Edward, you barely know Armstrong. Don't rush in judging people. Besides, if you think it's that terrible, just keep in mind that it's only temporary and regard it as a test on your mental strength, all right?" He winked as he said that. "Now go. You'd better not make him wait."

"Yeah," Edward said with a nod and arose. Picking up his suitcase, he got ready to walk out.

It was at that moment that he felt it.

His heart had just constricted.

He stopped on his tracks, half-surprised, half-expecting that something like this would happen. After all, he could only admit it now.

He would miss the Gondorian.

"Beregond?" He turned again to look at the injured man.

It was of no use. Beregond had fallen asleep.

_The talk must have been more draining to you than I thought,_ thought Edward, smiling a bit at the sight. "Goodbye," he murmured, and he walked out.

He never saw Beregond opening one eye, seeing the young alchemist off.

"Goodbye," the man said back softly. "Till our next meeting."

-----------------------

When Edward, Armstrong and Al arrived at the station, they barely had five minutes to get the tickets and rush to the platform from where they would depart for Resembool. So, it was with dismay that Edward suddenly heard someone shouting his name in the crowd that surrounded them.

"Hughes?!" he exclaimed, surprised to see the lieutenant colonel. "What are you doing here?"

"The guys from Headquarters were too busy to drop by, so they've sent me instead," explained Maes, smiling. "Have a safe trip."

"Right. Thanks, Hughes. Bye," said Ed, ready to rush off again.

"Hey, I've got a message from Roy."

Ed raised an eyebrow. "You mean the Colonel?"

"He was… uh…" He immediately deepened his voice to imitate Roy's. "'Don't die under my command; you're enough of a pain without the paperwork'. That was it."

If Ed had been in a better mood, he wouldn't have said anything. But now, it seemed that Mustang was asking for it. "Tell him: 'Fine, there's no way I'm dying before you do, you morally bankrupt Colonel with a God complex!'" Hughes just chuckled, something that didn't help matters much. "Can you tell him to get this gorilla escort off my hands, too?"

"You didn't seem to mind Beregond," pointed out Hughes, smiling.

"That was different!" the young alchemist retorted indignantly. "I _know_ Beregond isn't part of some military agenda!"

That finally sobered Maes. "All right, easy," he said, trying to show Ed that he wasn't an enemy. He sighed. "Look, Ed, I don't know what Marcoh said to have upset you, but I've got some info that might help you. Three years ago, we found the remains of a young girl which had been changed into a chimera. I'm sure you remember."

Ed gasped. Could he _ever _forget? "Nina…"

Maes nodded and leant confidentially. "The way she was torn apart… Turns out it's been identical to how Scar's been killing people."

Ed's eyes widened as he recalled the way Nina died; and then he nodded, a knowing smile appearing on his lips.

"Thanks, Hughes. That _does _help. Now I can take him on."

Just then, the train whistled for the passengers to board. Ed saluted, forced to use his left hand. Maes saluted back.

"When you get to Central, give a call, okay?" were the last words Ed heard before jumping on the train, the moment it was about to start its engines.

-------------------

It was afternoon when Dr. Marcoh finally decided to return to his house. There were no more soldiers at his doorstep, something that relieved him to no end. Sighing as he felt really free for the first time in a long while, he opened the door and walked inside. It finally seemed that his past was left behind.

That is, until he heard a very familiar woman's voice close to him.

"It's been a while, Marcoh."

Dr. Marcoh quickly turned at the direction of the voice. A beautiful, pale-skinned woman was regarding him, sitting in a nonchalant manner on a chair at the centre of the room. A coat was on her shoulders, hardly hiding the black dress underneath – or the tattoo of the ouroboros on her chest. Gasping, he glued himself against the wall.

Lust smiled with the triumph of someone finding a prize. "What an unexpected result I got from watching over the Fullmetal boy." She waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, don't worry. I didn't come here to bring you back. Even without you, we have people doing a great job taking over where you left off."

Marcoh still stared at her, hardly believing his ears. "What… It can't be… You're still _making_ those things?!"

Lust clicked her tongue several times in mock disappointment. "Oh my. How awful it's for you to forget that the ones who gave you the know-how to produce a Philosopher's Stone were _us_. Even without you, even without the files, the research hasn't stopped." She locked her violet eyes on him, her expression hard. "The matter of the research files you took with you, on the other hand… It wouldn't be so bad if an ordinary person were to find them, but it'd be very bad if a practitioner as good as that boy were to take a look at them. You ran away when you had an inkling of the truth, isn't that right?"

As Lust still talked, Marcoh caught sight of the gun. It was still on the table, forgotten. Looking at Lust in the hopes that she wouldn't notice what he was about to do, his hand reached for it slowly. "That's how it was," he said, now keeping his voice calm and collected. "I had prayed that I was wrong, that it was a nightmare, but…" His fingers touched the cold metal of the gun and got ready to grab it. "You filthy demons!"

He never managed to do anything. In the blink of an eye, Lust's index finger extended to an incredible length and pierced Marcoh's shoulder through and through. Marcoh screamed in agony, pinned on the wall.

"Don't try anything funny," Lust warned smugly, now walking up to him so that she was face to face with her victim. "Now, about the place where you hid the stolen files… You told that boy, didn't you?"

Marcoh stared, breathing heavily at the pain that coursed through him. "What are you…?"

Lust just twisted her finger, making Marcoh scream again. "_Don't_ play dumb. I'm busy and I don't have time for useless chatter."

Marcoh swallowed hard. It was then that he felt his blood flowing down his arm, dripping on the floor. He clenched his hand into a fist, seeing another way out of his predicament.

"That boy's bright," he said, using his blood to draw an array on the wall behind him. "When he sees those files… One day he'll find out the truth; what you are trying to do."

Lust smirked. "And am _I_ going to let that happen?"

"'And am I going to let that happen?'" echoed Marcoh, his lips tugging into a maniacal grin, as he completed the array and the transmutation began. "_You_ aren't going to be able to do anything! _You_ are going to die here!"

The words had barely escaped his lips when out of the array came a rocky spear. It went through Lust with such force that blood spurted out of her mouth.

"You let your guard down," said Marcoh triumphantly.

It was then that, to his utter horror, Lust's body stirred.

"What…?!" he started.

"That's so mean," Lust said in a hurt manner. She looked at herself. "I just died, didn't I?" In mere seconds, her elongated claws had cut the rocky spear in two, quickly disposing of it. Red light emanated from her body and, soon enough, her wound was closed.

"That's not… possible," breathed out Marcoh, stunned.

Lust just licked her lips, tasting her own blood. "Now… What are you going to do?"

"Doctor!" a girl's voice sounded suddenly.

The door was opened and the girl came in, happily unaware of what was going on to the very person she wanted to see. "I brought flowers!"

"KIRI! DON'T COME IN!"

It was then that Lust lunged her elongated claws again. Pinning the girl against the wall, she placed her middle and index finger just an inch away from the girl's neck. The girl froze, instinctively aware that moving either left or right it would mean decapitation.

"That's it. Now be a good girl," said Lust sweetly before turning once more to Marcoh. "Marcoh, you _do_ know what will happen if I twist my hand a little bit?"

"Don't! That girl has nothing to do with this!"

"Wrong answer," Lust said, smiling. However, it was a hard look that she gave to the man when she made her request again. "Say it."

Seeing that there was no other option left in him, Marcoh relented.

"The place I told the boy… Where the files are hidden…"

Lust's gaze hardened even further. "The place is…?"

---------------------

_The State Central Library. 1__st__ Branch. Tim Marcoh._

Ed looked again at the piece of paper, smiling a bit to himself. _So he hid a tree in a forest. The amount within that library's books is staggering._ He placed Marcoh's note in his pocket. _There is a clue about the stone there. This road isn't a dead end anymore._

And for the first time in a long while, Ed had hope. He looked outside the window, thinking of himself and Al restored once again, and he couldn't help but feel happy.

It was then that the thought occurred to him. If they found a philosopher's stone and they got their bodies back, certainly the stone would be able to get Beregond back to his home?

He would have to call Beregond at the first chance. The Gondorian would be glad to hear of the news, Ed was sure of it. He smiled again at the warmth he felt in his heart at the prospect of helping the Gondorian as well.

_We'll fix both wrongs, just as we promised each other._

-----------------------

Kiri didn't stop crying, not even when Marcoh was released and nestled her protectively.

Lust, however, only watched them with a cruel smile in her face. "Keeping it at the State Central Library. Not too shabby. And here I thought you ran off with it," she noted.

"What on earth are you people?" Marcoh said, shaken. "What do you want?"

Lust waved her hand dismissively. "Even if you don't worry about it, you'll find out soon enough." She pushed her hair back and started walking out the door. "I'll let you live till then, Marcoh. If you try to run away or interfere with our work or do anything else stupid like that; if you think about trying anything funny… I'll be back to finish the job."

And with no other word, she closed the door and went down the stairs.

"Well, did you learn what we wanted?" asked the lithe androgynous figure that was waiting for her, resting his body against the wall.

"Yes," answered Lust, quite pleased with herself. "Now, I wonder if the Fullmetal boy will let me go ahead of him and dispose of the files," she added, smiling.

Envy's features became almost demonic when he grinned. "He isn't going to like this."

"Not at all," Lust said, giggling. "Will you come with me?"

Envy shook his head. "Not yet. I will have to go check on something first… or, rather, someone."

Lust raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "You mean that sergeant, don't you?"

Envy nodded. "A man we've never seen or heard of before, accompanying the Fullmetal pipsqueak and even able to perform alchemy the same way _he_ can? That makes him quite intriguing, don't you think?"

Lust smirked. "Indeed."

**End of Part One**

**To Be Continued in Shamballa – Separate Ways**


End file.
